Letters to a Soldier
by athenasqueen
Summary: When she picked up the address of a soldier stationed overseas in a local charity program to send letters to, she didn't expect to end up with snarky Tim Gutterson as that soldier.
1. Chapter 1

When she opened the door that morning to find him standing there on her front door step, Darcy King thought her heart might just stop. It had been six months since she had last heard from him, after all, and she had presumed the worst had happened. She knew that it did happened, especially in his line of work, but seeing him now, standing here, so obviously unaffected had caught her off guard. His hand, which had been frozen mid-air to knock again, had dropped back to his side and he had flashed her a crooked grin.

She wasn't quite sure how long she stood there in shock, and while it had felt like a lifetime to her, she realistically knew it couldn't have been longer than a minute at the most. One of the first things she had noticed was his hair was longer than the last time she saw him, though not by a great deal. Darcy had almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, more of a hysterical response more than anything, unprepared for what was happening. She caught herself at the last minute, however, not wanting to appear any crazier to him than she was sure she already did. She hadn't realised she was holding her breath until she exhaled, her lungs protesting for air. He still wore that shit-eating grin, causing her to vaguely wonder if he was actually enjoying her reaction to his rather impromptu visit.

It wouldn't have surprised her if he was taking some form of amusement out of watching her flounder with what was going on. Then again, she didn't and couldn't exactly blame him for taking enjoyment in her reaction at seeing him here. She knew that the look of shock on her face must have been rather unequal to anything else either of them had seen. Comical to say the least, she knew that much. Though she figured she was damn well entitled to her reaction, all things considered. She ran a hand through her unbrushed hair, supposing she looked like a mess, having just left bed when he decided to start knocking on her front door. Though that was the least of her problems at the moment.

She had stumbled out of bed the moment the first sharp knock had occurred, swearing under her breath, wondering who could possibly want to see her this early in the morning. Dressed in nothing more than a tank top and a set of pyjama pants, she had made her way to the front door, prepared to tell whoever it was to come back later at a more appropriate time. That had been her plan, at least, until she had seen him standing there and anything she was going to say died quickly.

"Are you going to invite me in or are you just going to make me stand out here all day?" he finally drawled in that accent she recalled so well, his voice jolting back memories for the brunette, memories she thought she had put away a few months ago, when she had decided to move on with her life after realising that she probably never was going to hear from him again. In that moment, it suddenly occurred to Darcy that this wasn't some dream that her sleep deprived mind had come up with.

She opened her mouth to reply, but found that she couldn't find any words. Six months of silence, and now here he was, as if no time had passed them by at all. Darcy couldn't understand what he was doing here now, or wrap her head around the situation. He was watching her expectantly, she realised, and Darcy wasn't quite sure what came over her within the next moments. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, finally catching him off guard, as he stumbled back under the impact, one hand going to her side to steady her. And she felt the tiniest hint of satisfaction at finally managing to do so. Pulling away from him, the brunette offered him a sheepish smile, only mildly apologetic about her actions. She had to remind herself that no matter how well she may have known him, it didn't mean she really did know him.

"Well Sergeant, I suppose you better come in," she said, stepping to one side to let him in. He entered the room, and she closed the door behind her, listening to the click as it shut, wanting to cause as much delay as she possibly could to give herself some time to catch her thoughts but she didn't get quite as much as she would have liked. She turned to face him, still not quite sure how he was here, to find him already watching her. She felt the questions she had burning the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be asked, but she bit down hard, restraining herself with some difficultly. Instead she focused on asking a different set of questions. "Do you want anything to drink? Tea, coffee?"

"Coffee's fine," he replied, to which she had nodded absently, having already guessed as much. He seemed almost as unsure as she did now and somehow that cemented it in Darcy's mind that this was really happening, that he was here, that he had come home safe.

"Make yourself comfortable," she told him, gesturing towards a seat, as she headed towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. He didn't, however, following her to the kitchen instead. She wondered what had finally brought him here to her doorstep. She had to admit, it was a relief to know he was alive though.

"I know it's been a while since we last spoke and I know I'm to blame for that but, um, I wanted to drop by and thank you in person for everything you did," he began, as she set the cups out, her hands stilling as he started talking, her gaze flickering to where he was standing. "You can't begin to imagine what it's like to have some connection to normality over there. Your letters and calls used to be the highlight of my week in that place, Darcy. It was nice to be able to hear about something that didn't involve war all the time. So thanks, for everything."

A wide grin split across her face as she listened to what he had to say, all else forgotten. Some things didn't change, she thought to herself. He was just as blunt in person as he had been in his letters and phone calls to her and she found it oddly reassuring to know the Tim she had met through letters she sent to Afghanistan hadn't change after the six months since he had left the army. When she had first decided pick up an address to a soldier stationed overseas in local charity program to send them letters and care packages, she hadn't expected to end up with snarky Tim Gutterson. But she knew she wouldn't have changed it for anything.

It had started out with just letters between the two of them, before the phone calls started. The first time he rung her, he had pulled her out of bed. She had grumbled and cursed his name with a few choice profanities that would have made the most seasoned soldier blush, and he had just laughed, saying it was the middle of the afternoon for him and he had no idea why she was complaining. The next time she sent him a care package, she made sure it included a bright pink scarf, as a form of revenge for ringing her so early in the morning. Though it had backfired on her, when he sent her a photo of him wearing it with his uniform. Darcy had laughed at that, before she had hung the photo on her fridge, alongside the others he had sent her.

Their conversations went on for months, until he told her he was coming home, his last deployment over and done with. She had been happy for him, pleased that he was finally getting out of there, knowing the toll it must have taken him. And then there had been silence. No more letters, no more calls in the middle of the night. Nothing at all. Just complete and utter silence. And she had feared the worst had happened. Until now.

"Any time soldier boy," she replied dragging herself out of her thoughts, her gaze darting up to meet his, giving him a half smile. "Just next time, Gutterson, at least call before you just decide to show up on my doorstep. I wasn't too pleased at being dragged out of bed by you again."

He shot her a wide devilish smile at her words, instantly knowing what she was talking about. But despite all that, Darcy was just pleased to know that Tim was fine. That he was alive and not dead or missing in action. And even though he had almost given her a heart attack when she opened that door to see him standing there, she knew it was worth it to know her soldier was back.


	2. Chapter 2

_Twelve months earlier_

They ran the charity program every year. And every year, Darcy found herself there, though never before had she actually taken one of the addresses for a soldier. She had thought about it, several times to be honest, but she never had gone through with it. She didn't really have any answer for why she didn't. It was just something that happened. This year, however, she had. It had been a last minute decision on her behalf, one that she had been talked into, and she hadn't really paid too much attention to what address she choose, knowing that it didn't really make too much of a difference who received her letters and care packages. So as long as she managed to put a smile on their face and take them away from the war, even if just for a little while.

One of the ladies that worked there had approached her with the option of doing something like this. Darcy had been slightly hesitant to start off with, not quite sure what she could possibly write to someone to make their day better. But Mrs Mills had talked to her about how sweet of a gesture it would be, and eventually she relented, mostly to stop the old lady from pushing. She was a lovely lady, Darcy could admit, but she also had quite a knack for getting her own way. It was downright worrying when one thought about it.

Under Mrs Mills' watchful eye, Darcy had grabbed the first address she spotted, not bothering with reading it. She had waved it in the direction of the older woman, hoping that would be enough to keep her happy. She hadn't stayed too long after, just wanting to disappear.

She had read over the address when she arrived home, something she hadn't done until now. Some base in Afghanistan, she noted vaguely, with the solider being one Sergeant Tim Gutterson. She focused on the sheet of paper for a moment longer, before pushing it to one side, tucking it under one of the many things littering her table to prevent herself from losing it. She was sure Mrs Mills down at the charity office would be pissed if that happened.

She didn't end up writing to him straight away. She wasn't too sure what she could say to a stranger anyway without it sounding too awkward and formal. It wasn't as if she normally had such trouble writing letters but this one was different. So it had sat there one her table for a few days, waiting for the right moment. It wasn't until Tuesday night that Darcy finally sat down with a sheet of paper, planning on writing out her first draft copy of the letter she was going to send. The first couple of attempts ended up being thrown out in frustration, unsatisfied with them.

Leaning against the table, Darcy closed her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her mind. She was trying too hard, she knew that. Pen tapping against the table, she stared down at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, a furrow between her brow. She sat like that for a moment, before giving an abrupt laughing, shaking her head slightly as she did, her pen dipping to the paper. The words finally flowed to the paper, and before she knew it, she was sitting there with the finished copy in her hand.

Her eyes skimmed over what she had written, satisfied with how it had turned out in the end. Carefully, she folded the letter, creasing it along the edges, before tucking it into the envelope she had found earlier for this purpose. As she sealed it, she flipped it over, carefully etching the address to the front and the return address on the back. Pushing her chair back, wincing as it scraped across the wooden floor, she stood, and attached the letter to the care package she had prepared earlier.

She could recall the disaster that had been her kitchen while she had attempted to bake the biscuits to be sent along with it. She had flour on the floor from when she had kneaded the dough, and she was pretty sure more of it had ended up on her face. Several of the ones on the outside of the tray had burnt slightly, and she had tried to put most of those ones aside, though she supposed burnt or not, they would have still been more edible than the army rations soldiers lived on. And she knew what a soldier was willing to eat. Her uncle had proven that to her on more than one occasion.

With the package in her hands, she let herself out of the house, locking the door behind her. Once she posted it, the brunette would forget all about it after a few days, thinking that nothing much would come of it, until two weeks later when she was to find a letter in her mailbox.

"What have you got there Gutterson?'' was the first thing Tim heard when his mail was handed to him. It was the same every time whenever any of them received something from home that looked of any interest. Only this time it was Tim who ended up on the receiving end of it. He didn't really have anyone back in the States who sent him stuff, mostly because he didn't really have anyone in general (both his ma and father were dead, not that the latter was a great issue in Tim's opinion, and he didn't have any siblings or close family) so it had come as a mild surprise to the sniper to find out he had a letter and a fucking care package.

"None of your fucking business," he shot back automatically, though Connor just grinned instead, clearly not fazed in the slightest by being told off. He didn't recognise the handwriting on the envelope, or the name when he turned it over. A Ms D. King, he noticed. As if the name meant anything to him. With a half shrug, Tim opened the envelope, sliding a letter out from it. He could just feel Connor hovering over his shoulder, lurking like usual. Tim resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself, and go read his own bloody letters. Instead, he unfolded the paper in his hand.

 _Dear Sergeant Gutterson,_

 _My name is Darcy King. I know that this letter may come as some surprise to you, considering we have never actually met. I received your address in one of the charity programs that are often hosted to send mail to soldiers. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I think I'd have to actually hear back from you before saying that. But I would like to thank you for everything you have done, even if this is the only message we ever share. The rest of us will never understand the sacrifices you would have had to make in the line of duty but I don't believe such a thing should go unnoticed. Even if I never do hear back from you, I must say this will one memory I will never forget. To know that at least one soldier didn't go unforgotten. So thank you Sergeant, for all that you have done._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Darcy King_

 _P.S I have sent you biscuits in your package, but I am afraid to say that some of them did end up being burnt. Hopefully the rest of them are edible._

Setting the letter down, Tim picked up the parcel, opening it. True to her word, there was a tin of biscuits there. He grinned when he opened it, finding that she wasn't lying about a few burnt ones. They looked more along the lines of roasted than baked but Tim didn't give a shit. He probably would have eaten them if they had been hard boiled. The moment he opened the lid, he had most of the guys descending on him like a swarm of flies on shit.

"Who's the woman?" Doug asked him while Connor grinned from where he was, and Tim repressed a groan. He should have known it would come to this. It probably would have been a safer bet to open the damn thing on his own. "Your girlfriend you neglected to mention to us?"

"Would you fuck off?" he grumbled, swatting Doug's hand away from the tin, having a feeling that these biscuits weren't going to last too long around the base. "And she's not my girlfriend. Jesus, I don't even know the woman. She's just someone who is obviously a damn sight more thoughtful than you jackasses."

Though from the letter he received from her, that was hard to tell. Too stiff, too formal, was what Tim would, not really giving much insight into her personality. Though the last part, he though he detected d a faint teasing lit. He wondered if he'd be able to change that if he replied back to her. Maybe loosen her up slightly. Who knows, she might even turn out to be a blast. The others gave slight whistles at his words and Tim just rolled his eyes at them, feeling this one wouldn't go away for a while. Not while they were having so much fun with it.

"Damn Gutterson, didn't know you had it in you," Connor whooped, smirking like a Cheshire cat, causing Tim to absentmindedly wonder how much trouble he'd get in if he 'accidentally' shot a man from his company. "Scoring random women just like that. Does she know you're kind of a sarcastic asshole?"

"Still a better catch than you," Tim retorted easily, shooting a smirk in the general direction of Connor. "Besides, you never know, she might prefer sarcastic assholes over pretty boys."

"You gonna write back to her?" Tim hesitated at Doug's question. Was he going to write back to Darcy King? What would he say if he did? And how did he know she even really wanted to hear back from him? Sure she had said she wouldn't mind but people bullshitted all the time about such things. Then again, there wasn't really any harm that could come from it. He'd probably never met her face to face and if he made an absolute ass of himself, well, it wouldn't take too much effort to cut all communication with her.

He glanced down at the letter in his lap, frowning slightly as he did. Maybe it wouldn't hurt just to say thanks for her message and the food. It was the least he could do in return. Tim glanced back up, realising the other two were waiting for his reply. He gave a half shrug, not wanting to appear too eager or whatever the hell. Didn't need to give them any more ammunition to use against him.

"Maybe," he replied casually, almost carelessly, trying to sound as unaffected was he possibly could. "Just maybe." Standing up, brushing the dirt off of him, he tucked the letter into his shirt pocket, and took his tin of biscuits with him.


	3. Chapter 3

There was an envelope waiting on the top step of her front porch that afternoon. Darcy leaned down to pick it up, puzzled by what it was doing there. The mailman normally just put things straight into the mail box, never hand delivering anything personally. She wondered if perhaps it had blown out and one of her neighbours had picked it up. The very first thing that caught her eye was what appeared to be a muddy boot imprint on the corner of it. The next thing she saw was the name. _T Gutterson_. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat, caught unawares. She had nearly forgotten all about the letter she had sent, seeing as it had been two weeks ago.

She hadn't really expected him to reply. Darcy was realistic, she knew he had more important concerns than taking time to write a response to someone he didn't know. Yet here it was. Half in a daze, the brunette stumbled towards the porch swing, sinking into it. She didn't open it straight away, turning it over in her hands instead.

The porch swing creaked slightly as she rocked herself back and forth on it, still holding the unopened letter in her hands. The street was mostly silent, save for the occasional car the rolled past her house. With steady hands, she tore the edge along the envelope open with her nail, removing the letter from inside. This piece of paper didn't have any boot prints on it, she noticed, though she gave a slight grin when she saw a smudge of dirt across it.

Unfolding the letter, she let her eyes skim the page quickly, familiarising herself with Sergeant Gutterson's handwriting (though she wasn't quite sure that was handwriting or a drunken chicken had been scratching on the paper), before she settled back in the porch swing to try and read it.

 _To Darcy_

 _I'm not much of a writer, or a talker for that matter, never really been much good with words. So I'll just stick to the basics and hope I don't completely screw this up. Which could happen, knowing my luck. The amount of times I had to rewrite this is kind of unbelievable and in the end, I kind of just posted the damn thing. Obviously, I got the letter you sent me, along with the package, considering I'm replying to that. Though I suppose by now you've already worked that out. Thank you for that, by the way. I don't get a lot of letters from the outside world over here. Guess not too many people really do care about what's happening if it doesn't directly involve them. It's nice to hear from someone who does care though._

 _I didn't exactly have anything to send you in return, but I figured if we're gonna end up as pen pals or some shit like that, you might feel less awkward writing to a complete stranger. So I've enclosed a photo of me and my buddies at base. They all love you currently, by the way. Said you are the best damn cook they ever knew. Not that they have much to compare with, considering what they are willing to eat. But I do have to agree with them this time. Anyway, I probably should end this here. I also just want to say if you don't hear from me for weeks on end, it's probably cause I'm in the middle of a shitstorm. Thanks again for the letter and biscuits._

 _Tim_

As she finished his letter, Darcy couldn't help but laugh at how much she had worried about trying not to come across too familiar with the soldier. Apparently, that wasn't going to be an issue in this case, given his spectacular choice of words. Tim Gutterson had an interesting sense of humour, dry as it was. Her fingers reached inside the envelope, pulling out the photo he had told her was there. There were four men in the picture, grinning from ear to ear. She flipped the photo over, finding more of his dreadful handwriting on the back. He had listed the names of each of the men he was standing with and the order they appeared in.

"Tim Gutterson, Connor Jones, Doug Smith and Mason Parker," she read aloud. Flipping it back over, her eyes flickered to Tim. He was the shortest of the group, but despite that, there was something about him that made people take notice of him. And, if she was being totally honest with herself, he had a nice smile.

"What are you looking at?" Darcy jumped at the sound of the voice, having been preoccupied by the man in the photo. Her gaze flew up, catching sight of her neighbour, Nick, standing on the first step of her porch. She repressed a fain groan when she saw him there. He was nice enough but in Darcy's opinion, he was also a clingy pain in the ass who didn't know how to take a hint.

"Just reading a letter from a friend," she replied, glancing back down at the photo in her hand, not feeling any guilt for labelling Tim as such. She had a feeling he'd completely understand what she was about to do next. Or at least she hoped he would. Darcy figured she could write to him about it later. Better to ask for forgiveness that to seek permission, she always believed. "He's in Afghanistan at the moment and I miss him a lot."

"You two are close?" Nick asked and Darcy glanced up at him, watching the expressions on his face. He seemed mildly disappointed with a touch of jealously covering his features, as if he didn't want to share, didn't want some unknown soldier to have a claim over the woman he kept trying to score a date with. Which was simply too bad for him. Darcy had no interest in the man and she honestly wished he'd stop trying. She had told him no often enough yet he constantly persisted. She gave a slight shrug at his words.

"Yeah, we are. I always thought that I'd end up marrying him when he finally came home," she replied sweetly, watching as her neighbour choked on his next lot of words, feeling a mild case of satisfaction as he did. "Who knows, maybe we still will. You never give up on someone you love, no matter how hard it is."

The look of jealously far surpassed his disappointment and Nick made some excuse about being late for some appointment and hurried off her porch. Darcy gave a grin when he was gone, glancing down at the photo of Tim once again. "Looks to me like I owe you big time Gutterson," she told the picture, her smile still in place.

The snoring was keeping him awake. Tim had tried putting a pillow over his head to block out the noise but it did little. Short of shaking Mason awake and telling him to shut the fuck up, there wasn't much Tim could even do. In the end, he just left the tent and headed outside. He lit a cigarette, letting it dangle from his mouth, planning on reading the newest letter Darcy had sent to him. He hadn't had a chance to read it, he'd only received it this morning, having been away from base for a few days, sitting on a cold mountain, just waiting to take the shot at his target that the Rangers had been assigned.

The boys had grinned at him when he'd been handed it and he had caught an elbow in the ribs from Mason as they made some digging remarks at him about Darcy writing to him. The most common of which was asking if he was sure she wasn't his girlfriend. This time he had simply just shoved the letter into his shirt pocket, knowing that it would be best to read it without them hovering around him, making all sorts of cracks about it.

It was fucking cold sitting outside without his jacket but Tim couldn't be bothered to go back and get it. Instead, he thought about the letter currently sitting in his pocket, unopened. He couldn't quite stop a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth as he did, though he had no fucking idea why he reacted that way. It was just a letter from someone he was still getting to know. Tim was starting to think that maybe he'd been deprived of normal human company for too long it was starting to get to him.

He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, scuffing it into the dirt, extinguishing the flame. He stood there in silence for a moment, though even from where he was, he could still hear faint sounds of snoring. He rolled his eyes slightly, unable to understand how anyone could sleep through that noise. He was mildly surprised no one had bothered trying to smother the son of a bitch with a pillow. Tim even considered doing so for a moment before deciding against it. He couldn't really hide the body anyway. Not unless he dug a six foot hole and that would take some doing.

Flicking on his flashlight so that he could see what he was doing, he reached into his shirt, withdrawing the paper that was there. It was slightly crumpled and covered in a thin layer of dust, but he expected as much. Nothing stayed perfect in this place. And it hadn't helped when he had roughly put it away out of sight from the rest of them. He did his best to straighten it out before unfolding it, revealing Darcy's much neater handwriting.

Tim idly wondered just how well she went with reading what he had sent. Half the time, he couldn't even read his own bloody handwriting. He had no idea how well she would have fared. Probably would have more sense to send a fucking telegraph, he thought with a shake of his head, before he started reading.

 _Dear Tim_

 _I have to say, I didn't think I'd be hearing back from you. Though I do have to admit it was a nice surprise to come home to. Before I go any further though, I should probably tell you that I may have used your name in Operation Get Rid of the Neighbour Who Can't Take No for an Answer. And even though you had absolutely no idea it was even happening, I'd still like to thank you for your participation. None of it would have been possible without you. Of course, you can't really complain seeing as you were the one who sent the photo and said we could be 'friends' in the first place. Nice photo by the way. It's finally nice to put a face to the name and see your friends as well. I'd tell you you're kind of good looking but I have a feeling that would only inflate your ego._

Tim laughed at that, amusement spreading across his features. She wasn't so stiff compared to the first letter she had written to him, now that he had replied with one of his own that he was pretty sure contained one too many swear words. He focused again, reading the next bit on the paper.

 _I didn't get a chance to bake you anything this time around but I'm hoping next time I will. Or at least send something over that might be of some interest. Actually, the only thing I did have to give you was a pretty awful looking photo of myself, seeing as you've sent me one of you and fair is fair, and my number, so you can ring me if you get the chance. It might be easier for you to make a two minute call than taking time to sit down and write when you have other things that are more important it be focusing on. I look forward to hearing from you soon Sergeant. You take care now and don't get yourself into too much trouble._

 _Darcy_

As he tipped the envelope upside down, something fluttered to the ground. Stooping, he reached down and picked it up out of the dust, realising this was the photo she must have been talking about. He flipped it over so he could see it. He had to admit she was quite pretty with her honey coloured hair and brown eyes, wearing that old denim shirt with a pair of jeans. On the back side of the photo, she had scribbled down her number for him and Tim quickly committed it to memory. The photo he resolved to keep with him all the time, a sort of lucky charm he supposed. He didn't have a girlfriend waiting back home for him like many of the other soldiers did, but he realised that he did have Darcy.

He did have someone waiting for him to come home, who wanted him to stay safe and not get hurt. The sniper had never experienced anything quite like that. His only real friends had always been his comrades, the soldiers by his side, keeping him alive. But this was different, Tim knew that. Darcy King wasn't out there on the front lines with him like they were. But despite that, she apparently gave a fuck about what happened to him.

He sat there for a long time after, staring down at the photo of the woman who wanted nothing more than for him to stay alive, that thought echoing around his mind for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The tank convoy rumbled along the road noisily. His back was pressed against the hatch of the armoured vehicle, sniper rifle laying across the rim of the opening and his fingers curled around it. His eyes scanned the country side without slowing, searching for even the smallest of movements. He didn't particularly like being so exposed, out in the open, despite the fact what he was riding in. Tim still knew a decent sniper could take him out from where he was.

Hell, it probably wouldn't even take a sniper. A RPG could do the same thing a bullet would. Either way, if he wasn't careful, he could wind up dead in some place he couldn't even pronounce properly. He wasn't ready for dying just yet. He wouldn't be for a long time yet.

The armoured vehicle lurched forward and he went with it, his hip banging painfully against the metal. Tim pulled a face at the sudden pain that seared through his side, though he never once released his grip on his rifle. He was too well trained for that to happen. His training had made it instinctive that his weapon was one thing he could never lose. Not matter how bad things got.

He would have preferred being anywhere else, waiting for his victim, but he and a couple of others from the Rangers had been selected to travel with the convoy. There wasn't much they could do about it, orders were fucking orders, and so along they went. He had wondered if there was anything he could do to bring himself just a little bit of extra luck but he highly doubted it. Out here, he was on his own with nothing but his skills to bring him through alive. He wasn't even sure if luck would have a part out here.

Things were going smoothly, the convey moving along steadily throughout the dusty Afghanistan landscape, barely slowing their pace. Sometimes they got lucky (or maybe just they didn't draw the attention was more to the point) and reached their intended target. Sometimes they didn't and shit blew up in their faces. Tim had seen that happen one too many times. It was something that stayed with a soldier. It didn't matter how long one was here or what they'd been through.

Everything was quiet, save for the deafening noise of the tanks. There was no distant bark of a rifle or anything else that might have been found along the way. Not even any signs of life. A prickling sense of unease washed over Tim. Things seemed too perfect and he didn't like that. Nothing ever ran so smoothly. It was common knowledge among the soldiers, regardless of what they were a part of. His unease only heightened when he saw the car laying empty beside the road.

When the oil pits began burning, plumes of black smoke billowing into the air, concealing everything from sight, Tim knew shit was about to get ugly. They had walked right into a fucking ambush, his mind was screaming. There was nowhere for him to go, stuck inside that metal death trap. And he was proven right the moment the car blew to high heaven, and taking one of the personnel carriers that had gotten oo close with it.

He couldn't fucking see the enemy. His rifle was raised to his shoulder and he peered through the scope, hoping to see something, anything. Then gunfire opened up and he instinctively ducked, swearing as he did so. They were fucking everywhere, he realised. The shots came from both sides of the road and it was all Tim could do to stay upright. Eventually, he managed to relift his rifle, staring down its barrel, a figure finally coming into view.

He pulled the trigger without thinking, the reaction second nature to him. He saw the body fall before he had to duck again. That was when he heard the sound of something exploding behind him. The impact threw him forward slightly, his body connecting harshly against the metal. It had hit the hatch, he realised vaguely. The one right behind him. Fearing the worst, he looked down, his mind spinning from both the sound and knowledge of what had happened. His fingers were still there, and so were his legs and toes. He was shaking, partially with relief and partially at how close it had actually come to hitting him.

It wasn't until he looked behind him that he saw his spotter had been hit. Tim knew without checking that he was already dead.

They had eventually gotten through the disaster to where they needed to be. They had fought their way through the ambush and finally broken free of it. But it had come at a price, like it always did. Now, trudging back through the camp, Tim wanted nothing more than to fall face first onto a makeshift bed and try and sleep, exhausted beyond physical and mental abilities. But he knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. The memory was too raw in his mind, too painful, and he was still running on too much adrenaline to even consider sleeping.

Instead, he found himself a quiet spot, away from everyone else, pulling out the spare sheet of paper he carried with him. He didn't know what to say, what to write, but he knew it would be better once he put it down on paper. He knew she'd understand why he was writing to her about this. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. After all the letters that they had sent back and forth, Tim had come to know her well enough to know she wouldn't mind him doing this. She'd understand and that was all Tim needed right now. Maybe next time he'd call her, though he kept putting it off, despite having sent her several letters over the last two months, just to hear her voice. Who knew, maybe it would give him some respite from this hell he found himself in. But for now, he just needed to write to her, to get it off his chest, the horrors that he had gone through.

It still flashed through his mind, the fact that they had walked straight into the fucking ambush and they hadn't even realised it until it was too late for anything to be done about it. He could still see the image of his dead spotter in his mind and he knew that wouldn't fade. Not any time soon anyway. Things like that didn't just go away at will. They tended to stick around, lingering for as long as they could.

He wouldn't tell her everything of course. He'd write it all down, what he'd seen, but he wouldn't send her that. She didn't deserve to be burden down by his nightmares. But just enough to know that it would release his mind from the survivor's guilt he was feeling. His hand was shaking slightly, enough that it would throw his handwriting off even more than normal and he sat back in frustration for a moment, before lighting a cigarette to try and calm his nerves. Anything with some semblance of normal.

Once he was sure he could keep his hand steady, he starting writing his letter to Darcy King, his mind reliving the experience that he had just come through.

The café where Darcy worked was quiet that afternoon. The rush of people had slowed to a trickle until only a handful of regulars were left sitting at the main counter. She made the last final rounds before her shift was over and the café closed for the day, filling the coffee cups of the people still left in the building. She chatted with a few of the people she knew well as she did, watching as they too slowly began to disperse from the room.

When the last of the customers had finally left, Darcy cleaned away the assortment of dishes and carried them out through the back. When she finished cleaning up, she hung up her apron and made her way out through the exit. She locked up the café for the night, the last to leave as usual. Not that she minded. She had no one waiting at home for her to be there on time. She could simply come and go as she pleased. And that suited Darcy perfectly.

Wrapping her jacket around her to ward off the wind, she started in the direction towards home. The walk didn't take her long tonight. The front lawn came into view soon enough, basked within a pink glow of the setting sun. She paused for the briefest moment, her eyes taking in the sight before she continued walking towards the house.

There was little movement in the neighbourhood for a change, and she wondered if perhaps she had gotten lucky and Nick had gone out for the night. Despite what she had told him earlier, he still seemed to think that he had a chance. Granted, he didn't visit her as often as he had used to, but her 'explanation' of Tim being her boyfriend certainly hadn't deterred the man. Darcy had written to him and asked if held mind playing along with her, to which Tim had done so quite happily, altogether too pleased to take the time to torment her neighbour. But apparently it made no difference to Nick. She grudgingly gave him points for not giving in.

Of course that didn't mean she wanted him to be so damn persistent. Rubbing a hand across her face, she paused beside the mailbox, opening it and reaching inside. Her fingers closed around whatever was inside and she withdrew her hand, a familiar dust stained envelope coming into sight. She knew who it was from without even reading the messy scrawl of handwriting on the front. There was nothing else for her, so she closed the mailbox, and half jogged up towards her front porch.

Her feet hit the hard wooden stairs and she bounded up them with ease, unlocking the front door before sweeping into the house. Darcy flicked the lights on, tossing her coat on the back of the living room chair. She set the letter down on the kitchen bench as she prepared dinner. It was only when she had a plate of food did she settle down in one of the vast, oversized armchairs and opened Tim's letter, grinning slightly as she wondered what he had to say today.

 _Dear Darcy_

 _I don't even know where to start this time. And I didn't even want to write to you but I couldn't think of anyone else who'd understand why I need to get this out of my mind. I mean, I know the men I serve with would understand some of it, but soldiers don't generally talk about their feelings. They don't like to discuss what they've seen over here, to relive memories better off buried. I don't either, normally, but sometimes there's no chance of burying those memories, no matter how hard you try. They always come back to haunt you in the end. Which brings me back to why I'm writing this letter to you, Darcy. Because out of everyone, you might the only one who gets it. This whole feeling bullshit, I mean. Sometimes the only way to get rid of the nightmares is to share them right?_

 _We were traveling with a tank convoy today. Headed to some little ass town that I can't pronounce, let alone spell. But its name isn't really that important. Maybe if I pretend it didn't happen, then maybe I'll wake up and find out it didn't. No such chance of that happening though. That's just what it's like over here. We weren't waiting for it. There wasn't supposed to be any resistance. An in and out mission, that's all it was meant to be. But they were waiting for us Darcy. I won't fill you in on everything that happened. You don't need that burden. It's just… we lost a lot of men today in that ambush. I had a close call when one of the RPGs hit the armoured vehicle I was in. My spotter was the one who ended up getting hit. The only good outcome was that it was over quickly._

 _Maybe next time I'll have better news for you. Who knows, I might even call you instead. There's a chance this letter won't be sent but who knows, I may end up changing my mind. If I do, I just want to thank you. This isn't exactly something you should have to hear. It isn't something anyone should have to hear. Take care Darcy. I hope I'll hear from you soon._

 _Tim_

Darcy set the letter down, her hands shaking, with no idea how she was supposed to respond to what he had told her. All she knew was that her eyes had welled up with tears for the man she had come to consider as her soldier and friend.


	5. Chapter 5

It was four in the morning when the phone rang. The loud shrill that sounded through the room jerked Darcy awake, causing her to sit up in confusion, startled. The insistent ringing continued, making her realise she wasn't dreaming, and swearing, she dragged herself out of bed, stumbling towards it. Whoever was on the other end had better be fucking dying, she thought. With her eyes still half closed, she scrambled to lift the ringing device, not finding it the first few times before placing the receiver against her ear.

"Unless you are dying or dead, fuck off and call me at a more reasonable hour," she swore bitterly into the phone, not particularly caring who was on the other end of the call. "Have a good fucking day asshole."

She slammed the receiver back down, not even bothering to wait for the other person to speak, only for it to ring again two minutes after she had hung up. She gave a growl of annoyance, unable to believe anything could be so important to ring her at this godforsaken hour, lifting the phone back to her ear.

"I fucking said, fuck off or I swear-" she was cut off before she could say anything further.

"You always this bitchy or is it just a morning thing?" a southern voice drawled from the other side of the phone. The brunette blinked once, not recognising who the fucking hell was speaking. Her mind was still half asleep and everything was rather unfocused for the brunette.

"Who in the name of fuck?" she asked, running her hand across her eyes, trying to wake herself up slightly. She realistically knew she should know who was speaking but for now, Darcy couldn't quite grasp it. All she cared about was getting rid of whoever it was and going back to sleep. They could call her later in the morning, when normal people called. It took a moment before it suddenly dawned on her who was calling. "Tim?"

She could hear him laughing as she finally worked it out and she resisted the urge to tell him to bite his own ass. She didn't care if they were friends. Calling her at this time in the morning was inexcusable and Darcy was, to put it mildly, pissed off. She fell onto the sofa beside the phone, curling her legs underneath her, deciding she might as well be comfortable, seeing as she wasn't quite awake and there was a strong chance she'd crash during the call. She stifled a yawn as she did so, sinking further into the couch.

"Hi Darcy," he chuckled, seeming rather smug and pleased with himself. Despite that, the brunette felt her anger slipping away. She was mildly annoyed with him still, the bastard had rung her at the worst time possible, but staying angry with him wasn't possible, sarcastic shit he might be. "I'd ask you how you're doing but I figure you're cold and pissed off by the way you sound."

"No fucking shit Sherlock," she mumbled back to him, though her words lacked any real heat, most of it having dissipated into the air once she realised who it was that was speaking to her. "Though it's not actually cold so I guess that part is incorrect. What the hell are you doing calling at this time in the morning, Sergeant?"

"Thought I'd wake you up," he replied dryly, that southern accent making her grin slightly. She would have never guessed where he was from if she had just relied on the photos he sent her. "Would have made the trip and done it personally but I feel that would have landed me a black eye. And I'm much too pretty for that. I pity any man that tries it."

Darcy snorted slightly at that, his response amusing her. It was something so uniquely Tim and she couldn't help but smile at what he was saying. "I think you might be the only person who'd wake me up at four in the morning. Normal people aren't awake at that hour, Gutterson. Course, you and your weird army schedules make you completely not normal. You know, I'm starting to think I should have this conversation when I'm more awake and what I'm saying actually makes sense."

She could hear him laughing as she fumbled on her words. At the moment, she was convinced she was making no sense, her brain not fully forming sentences before she spoke, but apparently he understood what she was trying to get across, which was all that mattered, she supposed. A mild scuffling sound came across the phone, and a frown creased her brow, wondering what the hell was going on. It wasn't until another voice cut through the background that she realised what must have happened.

"Hey, Tim's girlfriend, how you doing?" she heard someone call, the voice slightly muffled by distance, followed what sounded like a crack of a hand against someone's head. "Ow, what the fuck was that for? Come on man, we just wanted to say hello. Jesus, fuck don't hit me."

There was silence on Tim's end for a moment, and if it wasn't for the fact her phone didn't beep, she might have thought he'd hung up. She was proven wrong, however, when his voice came back through the phone after a few minutes, albeit slightly sheepish.

"I, um… sorry about them. They don't have any filters whatsoever. Of course, that gets worse when they have to talk to a woman. Their brains must just fry or something when faced with someone who looks so much better than they do," Tim told her, not sounding quite as smug as before. "Look, I have to go too. Army regulations for how long we spend on the phone and all that shut. But I'll ring again when I get a chance, okay?"

"Sure Tim," the brunette said, feeling more than a little amused by the entire situation that had unfolded, though a little disappointed he had to go. In spite of waking her up, Darcy had to admit this was probably the only phone call she didn't want to end so soon. "Just promise me you won't get into too much trouble, okay Gutterson? Otherwise there's no way in hell I'll let you wake me up personally." She paused for a brief moment before continuing. "Be careful and stay safe."

"Will do," he replied. "I'll talk to you real soon Darcy. But I won't ring so early next time. Better let you have your beauty rest or I will end up with that black eye." With that, he clicked off, leaving the brunette holding a silent phone. She set it back down on the cradle, staring at it for a moment longer, before she crawled back into bed, still giddy with an unexplainable elation from the call.

Tim left the phone room with a wide grin on his face, unable to get rid of it. He knew that the boys would be waiting just outside for him and he also knew he was going to cop a lot of shit from them, but for some reason, the sniper just couldn't bring himself to give a fuck. His call to Darcy had left him in a good mood and there was little that would spoil it for him.

It would have been better if he'd had more time to talk to her, but it was rare the army ever gave anyone longer than that. He didn't give a shit though. It was just enough to finally be able to hear her voice. Which he had to admit wasn't what he was expecting. Tim thought that maybe she was from Kentucky, judging by her accent. Maybe next time he'd ask, he mused to himself.

He was right about them waiting. The moment he stepped out into the searing sun, he found them hovering around like vultures, just waiting for him to show. They didn't even give him a chance to get far before they started with the jokes and the questions. At least, it was Doug who asked the questions. Mason and Connor were more interested in giving him shit then asking anything. It was mostly the usual and he sidestepped most of their teasing with teasing with relative ease, pretty used to it by now.

It had been like that ever since he had started talking to her, though now it was more like Darcy was a part of their little messed up version of a family, and not just some good looking woman back in the States. Despite all the teasing about Darcy being his girlfriend, he knew that his mates had accept her as more than that. He absentmindedly wondered what she'd think of that little bit of information if she ever found out.

"So when's the wedding happening?" Connor asked, a shit eating grin on his face as Tim rolled his eyes slightly at the question, not even sure he wanted to dignify that with an answer. "And do I get to be the best man?"

"In your fucking dreams Jones," Tim replied, deciding he might as well just go with it. He knew Darcy wouldn't give two fucks about what he was about to say next. She'd probably find it more amusing than anything. If Tim had learned anything about her, it was that she had a wicked sense of humour. "You're not even invited to the wedding, man. You either, for that matter Mason. And Doug's the best man seeing he's not being an asshole."

The outcome was exactly what he expected when he decided that he'd fuck with them. Both Mason and Connor spun around so fast Tim was surprised they didn't end up with whiplash. Doug, to his credit, appeared to just take it in his stride. For a moment, the other two fumbled and choked on their words, not too sure what to say. Or think for that matter, judging by their expressions, Tim noted with satisfaction. He found it rather difficult to keep a straight face, the corners of his mouth tilting up into what would be a smirk.

"Moving a bit fast there, aren't you Casanova?" Mason finally managed to get out, having regathered his wits first. "Don't you know you actually have to ask a woman first before you marry her? Didn't your mother ever teach you that Gutterson? I have got to say, I am rather disappointed in you."

Tim just gave a shrug in response, grinning from ear to ear as he did so, no longer able to hold a straight face. "Sure, she taught me that but what makes you think I haven't already asked her? Or that she didn't say no?"

The other two men gave a slight groan as they realised he was simply fucking with them, Connor mumbling something about being too sober for this shit. Tim found that he couldn't stop himself from laughing, the looks on their faces having been priceless. He didn't think he'd seen anything this good since… well he couldn't remember the last time. There was a little bit more bitching before they left, mumbling something about needing a drink after the heart attack that Tim had given them, which left him standing there with Doug.

"You love her," he heard Doug say quietly beside him, causing Tim to start, having not been waiting for that at all. It was his turn to choke on words, caught completely off guard by Doug's statement.

"I am not… I do not… I'm not in love with Darcy," he spluttered, trying to find his footing in this conversation and wondering how the hell it took this turn. He had no idea where Doug got that fucking idea. "She's just a friend, for fuck's sake."

"I said you love her, not that you're in love with her dumbass,' Doug corrected him. "There's a big difference between the two. When you are in love with someone, you want that person. But when you love them, you need them. And there's the difference. And you may not agree with me, but I've seen the way you react to her. You've never been that comfortable around anyone. You fucking love her, whether you see that or not."

It was as if someone had poured ice cold water into his veins. Tim had no idea what to make of that. When Doug left him, he was still standing there in shock. For the rest of the day, those words played over and over in Tim's head. He thought about what it was like, having Darcy in his life, how much he looked forward to the letters she sent him. He thought about how she was the one person he trusted more than anything. And he realised that maybe Doug wasn't so far from the truth after all.


	6. Chapter 6

It was pink. He didn't have any other words to describe it. Hell, he wasn't sure there were any other words to describe it. All that came to Tim's mind was pink. And the longer he stared at it, the more… pink it seemed. Fuck, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything that pink before today. But other than the colour, he had to admit it was a pretty decent scarf. And considering how low the temperature dropped during the nights here, it was a practical idea. There was just no way in hell he was going to be able to wear it. Then again, even something that bright would eventually become brown from the sand. At least, that was what he was hoping.

He glanced down at the note in his hand again, Darcy's handwriting familiar enough to him that he could probably read it in the dark if he tried hard enough. He had no doubt she was laughing at him right now, having finally gotten back at him for his four in the morning call to her last week. He knew it was going to happen sooner or later, just not in this way. A pink fucking scarf. Fuck it.

His eyes skimmed the words written on the paper again, though he really didn't need to. He'd already read it before he pulled out that pink scarf from the care package she'd sent over and had a mini heart attack the moment his eyes caught sight of it. He had stared at it in complete silence for a good half a minute before his brain had starting working again. Even now, he wasn't real sure he was functioning after that surprise. The sniper was pretty sure he was still in a state of shock.

 _Dearest Tim_

 _I hope you're having a good day and this letter finds you well. I've been meaning to write sooner but the shifts at the café have just made it rather hard to do so. I'm actually writing this on my lunch break, so it probably won't be very long. I'm really going to have to try harder to make up for lost conversations, aren't I?_

 _I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed hearing from you the other day. To show you just how much I appreciated your call, I decided to send you something in return. The moment I saw it, I instantly thought of you. So of course I couldn't pass up the opportunity. Actually, all jokes aside and the fact that you called me too fucking early, I am glad you did call. Makes you seem a bit more real, rather than just that handsome soldier in a photograph and words on paper._

 _I'm afraid I have to go now, but I promise as soon as I can, I'll write you a longer letter. And I'll make sure I tell you all everything that's been happening back here at home. Take care Tim._

 _Love, Darcy_

 _P.S. I want photos of you with your gift Sergeant._

Tim didn't even realise he was smiling as he reread her words. And he paid no attention to the way his pulse skipped a beat (that was due to far too much time in the sun, nothing else. Fuck Doug and his conspiracy theories). He was going to have to surprise her with another call, though this time he'd wait a little before ringing her. The last thing he needed was a repeat of this pink scarf incident. Or even anything remotely close to this.

He gave a sigh as he folded up her letter, tucking it into his shirt pocket. He should have realised she'd want photos as proof. He silently vowed to never piss off Darcy King again. At the last minute, he decided to say fuck it and put the bloody thing on. All he needed now was someone else to take the photo for Darcy because there was no way he'd stoop to the level of taking a selfie. There was only so much his pride could take. And his had nearly reached the limit for the day. If this was what she was aiming for, than she had succeeded.

He was fortunate enough to find a female private who offered to take the photo for him. In Tim's opinion, that was a damn sight better than asking one of his friends to do it. He could already see their reaction. Then again, he'd probably just tell them to bite their asses. Dammit all, Darcy had sent it to him, despite it being some form of revenge, and he was damn well going to wear the fucking thing and to hell with what anyone thought.

"Did your girlfriend send you that sir?" the private asked, drawing Tim back out of his thoughts, causing him to glance down at that bright pink scarf. She handed him back his camera, and he flicked quickly through the photos. "I'm sorry, I'm prying. You really don't have to answer that."

"Yes she did," he replied dryly, deciding not to bother correcting the private about the fact Darcy was not his girlfriend. It wouldn't have made any different anyway. "Seeing as she can't make me sleep on the couch, this was her form of punishment instead. Between you and me, I think it brings out the colour of my eyes."

She just gave him a half awkward smile, clearly not sure how to respond to his sarcastic bullshit. Tim just thanked her and let her go. His eyes dropped back to the photos on the camera, picking a random picture that he'd send to Darcy, not particularly caring whether or not it was the best one. And then once more, the war took front seat and all else was forgotten as he scrambled to get himself organised for the patrol. He forgot all about the scarf, until his C.O asked if he was really going to wear that. He simply replied with a 'Yes Sir' and a wide smirk.

She woke up with her heart in her throat and her body drenched in sweat. The sheets stuck to her skin, and for a moment, she felt as if they were pulling her down, constricting her. Panic welled up inside of her and she fought to get the blankets off, partially still trapped within her nightmare. It was only once they were ripped from her body did her heart begin to slow from its erratic beating and her reason came back in tiny trickles. She found her jaw clenched shut tightly, and slowly she released it.

 _The bullet had struck him through the throat, and the blood spurted from the wound, dripping down his neck and seeping onto the ground below his still body. She tried to stop it, her hands pressed against his neck as tightly as she could manage, trying to stop the flow but she couldn't. He kept bleeding, and bleeding. It trickled from his mouth, down the side of his face…_

Her cheeks were streaked with tears, clammy and wet, and the night air felt cold against her flushed skin. The room was still dark and in the silence, she could hear the thumping of her heartbeat along with her ragged breathing. Her fingers from one hand were knotted painfully into the corner of the discarded sheet. Forcing herself into a sitting position, she unclenched her fist, unaware that her nails had been digging into the palm of her hand, leaning against the headboard of the bed, her eyes closing in hopes of calming herself down.

 _There was too much blood. Her hands were covered with it, stained red, a colour that would never completely wash away, no matter how much she scrubbed. Her mouth was open, screaming for help, but no sound emerged from her throat, caught there in endless suspense. Lifeless eyes stared up at her, burning through her soul, and she was choking on her own tears and on his blood. She was drowning in a pool of that blood, trying to save a dead man…_

Darcy's eyes flew open again, and a half strangled little sob escaped her lips. It was a nightmare, it was a nightmare, she repeated to herself in desperation, the calm she had struggled to find moments before shattered again. She half stood, half stumbled out of her bed, needing to get out of the room before the walls closed in around her, suffocating her. She found herself in an equally dark kitchen, struggling to find the light switch and then giving up as her fingers fumbled with a seemingly empty wall.

 _She was screaming now, trying to shake him awake, but there was nothing that she could do. He'd bled out, all over the ground, all over here. He was dead, gone. She was left there alone, covered in his blood, her hands ripping at her hair, hysterical and no one was there to help her…_

The meagre content s in her stomach were emptied into the kitchen sink and for a moment, she leant hunch over. She couldn't stop the shaking and for the briefest period of time, it felt like she was watching herself from outside the body. She felt disconnected and then it was over and she was once more back with the horror of it all.

In the dark, she managed to find a glass and the crystal bottle of bourbon. She poured herself a drink, downing it, before pouring another. The shaking had stopped as the alcohol took effect, sending a numbing wave over her. It was just a dream, she told herself again, nothing more than a horrible nightmare. He was okay and there was no blood. Not on her or the ground or on him. Letting out a shuddering sigh, Darcy finally found herself relaxing, the tension in her muscles disappearing.

There was no blood, no one was dead. Nothing had happened. She wasn't quite sure what had brought the nightmare on, what had made her see that (so much blood, so much blood, her mind kept repeating), but it was nothing more than a nightmare. Though Darcy knew that nightmare could happen if her soldier wasn't careful. That he really could be dead with a bullet lodged in him in some Afghanistan town. He wouldn't be the first soldier to go down on foreign soil, so far away from home.

Tim was okay. Rationally, Darcy knew that. She had gotten his letter only that morning, with his photo of him wearing that pink scarf and a stupid smile on his face. She had laughed in that sunlit kitchen, unable to believe he'd actually done it, not at all worried that her revenge plans had backfired on her. She had stuck the photo beside all the others on the fridge that he had sent her. Now that memory seemed so far away in the shadows of the night and the dream that was haunting her.

Her hands were shaking once again but she barely realised it in her agitated state of mind. When had Tim Gutterson come to mean so much in her life that she now had nightmares of his death? When had he come to be such an important factor to the brunette that losing him seemed like the end of it all?

When had she come to love him?

She didn't know the answer, didn't want to know. She couldn't love a soldier. There was nothing else to it. Her own selfish reasons refused to let her. She couldn't possibly love a man she could potentially lose. To love a solider would be a death sentence to her heart. Yet that same heart had already made its own choice, not even bothering to ask for her consent.

She needed to stop or at least slow herself down before she hurtled headlong into something she couldn't pull herself out of. Even if that meant distancing herself from the Ranger. It was selfish, and harsh, but her natural instinct was to shy away from love, to keep herself far away from it. And when it came to loving a soldier, running seemed to be the only thing she could do. The only logical thing she could do. No matter what her heart might have felt.

Because no matter what it felt now, no matter how much it thought it loved him, she knew the pain of losing him would hurt too much, would rip her apart, and she knew she wouldn't be able to live with it. In that kitchen, in the early hours of the morning, Darcy King made her silent resolution to stop loving the man that had become her soldier.


	7. Chapter 7

_I just want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It's wonderful to hear the comments and to know that people are enjoying it. Without all of you, this story wouldn't have been possible. So thank you and I hope you like this chapter._

It hurt like a son of a bitch. They carried him to where the ambulance was waiting, though he had protested at that, telling them to save the room for whoever was critically injured. That was until Mason pointed out he was the only one who'd be shot. In the ass, none the less. And if that wasn't humiliating enough, the bullet fired hadn't even come from enemy lines. One of his own fucking privates who happened to be a little too jumpy had caused it.

Tim found himself lying on his stomach as the medics, none too gently either, loaded him into the back of the armoured vehicle. A grimace of pain flashed across his face as they jostled him around, wondering why in the name of fuck he had to be shot.

They had done what they could to stop the bleeding, though it wasn't real bad. He wasn't looking forward to getting the bullet fragments removed from his ass, to be honest. Sitting down was going to be impossible for the next week or so. If he ended up getting his hands on the private who had shot him, Tim was going to strangle the little shit.

Of all the stupid fucking things that could happen, this had to be the worse fuck up of them all. He was lucky he'd only been shot in the ass. If the bullet had hit a major artery, Tim knew the outcome would have been a lot worse. He knew there would have been a strong chance he wouldn't have walked away from that.

He wasn't sure what had happened. Things had moved too fast for him to really understand what had gone wrong. One moment he had been staring down the barrel of his rifle, his scope trained on the village before him, then next he felt something burn through his skin. At first he didn't even realise he'd been shot. He wasn't too sure what to think. It was only until a few minutes later did he realise. And that was when the swearing had started.

The trip back to base was uneventful, something that the sniper was grateful for. The last thing they needed was an ambush attack or some bullshit like that. It happened, too often, but today they were lucky. Though after that fiasco, luck was something that he needed.

They unloaded him out of the ambulance back at base, carrying him and the stretcher to the makeshift hospital. He would have told them he could walk but that most likely would have fallen on deaf ears. And he wasn't sure he could walk just yet. This wasn't the first time held been shot but it was the first time he'd been shot in the ass and he had to say, it hurt a damn sight more than some of his other bullet wounds. Though he had no idea why. It was an ass wound, for fuck's sake.

It had been only moments after arriving back at base and being unloaded from the back of the ambulance when Doug appeared from one of the other armoured vehicles. He took one look at Tim sprawled out one the stretcher, grimacing in obvious pain. Tim didn't fail to notice the look that came his way, rolling his eyes.

"Some dipshit of a private," was the only explanation he gave. He didn't feel like elaborating on the issue, having felt like he'd suffered enough for one day. His suffering was quite over yet, he reminded himself as one of the doctors made his way over to where he was lying. He still needed to have bullet fragments removed.

"Sergeant Gutterson," the doctor greeted him, and Tim gave the man a grimace in response. "We'll take you in for surgery now."

"Wish me luck," he grumbled slightly to Doug before they wheeled him off to the surgical room.

Darcy was in the middle of cooking breakfast when the phone rang. She almost dropped the spatula in surprise, mildly caught off guard by the noise. Hastily, she made for the phone, picking it up before it finished its fifth ring, absently wondering who was calling.

"Hello, Darcy speaking," she answered, holding the phone against her ear as she flipped the eggs in the frying pan, only half paying attention to the person on the other end of the line.

"Miss King, my name is Doug Smith," she heard him started, and Darcy frowned slightly, the voice sounding like none she'd ever heard before but she knew the name. She just couldn't quite recall from where. "I'm a friend of Tim's. Actually, he's the reason I'm ringing at the moment. He's been shot."

She almost dropped the phone as her heart stopped beating for a moment, her hand over her mouth in horror. Shot. It was all Darcy could do to keep herself from crying out. Before she could really panic, Doug continued speaking. "It's nothing serious. One of the privates shot him in the… ah um… well his ass. I thought you should know, seeing as he probably won't tell you. Once he's out of surgery and recovered from whatever they've given him, I'll get him to talk to you."

The breath she didn't even realise she had been holding came out shakily, her fingers gripping the counter to keep herself upright. He was okay. Tim was okay. She focused on the fact he was alright, rather than the fact he'd actually been shot in the first place, trying to prevent herself from focusing on the fact that she knew she could have lost him today.

"I really appreciate you calling and telling me," she replied, her voice sounding far stronger than she felt. Her legs were weak, with relief or fear, she couldn't quite tell, and she was surprised to find she was still standing.

"It's the least I could do," Doug replied. "I guess I figured you had a right to know, considering how close you two are. You know, he talks about you all the time. Never shuts up, to be honest. I can't remember a time when he ever spoke so damn much. But really Darcy, I want to thank you for coming into his life. You're probably the best thing that could have happened to him. Tim never really had anyone back home, not before you came along. I guess it gives him something to look forward to, maybe even gives him some hope that there's something waiting back at home for him. You have no idea how much a soldier really needs something like that at times."

Hearing Doug say that, especially after her former promise to herself to not get further involved in Tim's life least she cause herself heartache that could have otherwise been avoided, caused Darcy's heart to wrench slightly within her chest. She had known when she made the decision, it had been for purely selfish reasons. But maybe those reasons were far too selfish, in the light of the situation. And somewhere along the lines, Tim had become her rock as well. The one person she could count on, despite him not even being in the same country. Giving up one him now didn't really seem like the right thing to do anymore.

"I'm glad I can be there for him," she answered truthfully, realising that she was already too far in to ever get out, and unexpectedly realising she didn't want to. She was in it for the long haul now. "Tim's a good man. I just wish I could do more for him."

"Believe me, you're doing more than enough," she heard him say, heard the smile behind his words and thought that if Tim was in the hands of men like Doug, she didn't have anything to worry about. "Although, there is one more thing you could do. If he ever asks you out, tell him yes. I have a bet riding on this."

Darcy started laughing then, the relief of knowing Tim was okay slowly catching up to her, alongside the intended humour of Doug's words. "I thought you were a soldier, not a matchmaker."

"Soldier by day, matchmaker by night," Doug chuckled with her. "Hey, I'll call you back when our boy's out of surgery and ready to talk. Nice to finally meet you Darcy by the way."

"Yeah Doug, it was nice to meet you as well," she said, that smile still on her face, the words ringing true. As she set down the phone, she knew then and there that whatever happened, she was going to have to stick by her soldier.

He was groggy when he came out of the anaesthetic. He couldn't feel much at the moment, but he knew that would change before long. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear the fog from his mind but gave up when nothing happened. Instead, he chose to lay there (still on his stomach, there'd be no sleeping on his back for a while), letting it clear on its own.

He wasn't sure how long they'd keep him off active duty but Tim was determined it wasn't going to be more than a few days. He'd go stir crazy if that was the case. Still drowsy, he felt his eyes closing again and his thoughts dissipating. That was until a voice dragged him back into reality again.

"Hey Gutterson, wake up. You've got a call to make," he heard from somewhere in front of him. With slight reluctance, Tim reopened his eyes, catching sight of Doug grinning down at him. "You back with us or you still out of it?"

"I'm fucking fine," he mumbled, face down in the pillow, rather hoping Doug would just disappear. Though that seemed rather unlikely. "And what call are you talking about? I don't have anyone to call today."

"Well, I may have called your girlfriend and let her know you, being a dumbass, ended up with a bullet in his ass of all places, mind you," his friend continued cheerfully, rather sadistically Tim thought. "She's a lovely girl. I think I know what you like so much about her.

"Why the fuck did you call her?" Tim asked, raising his head off the pillow. He personally would have been happier to go through this without Darcy knowing about it. It was bad enough half his platoon knew about it. "Actually, you know what? Don't answer it. Just stop talking before I decide to shoot you. Can you get me out of here so I can use the phone?"

As it turned out, Doug had brought one of the cells they occasionally used, which made things slightly easier for Tim. He would have preferred getting out of the medical room, but he'd take whatever he could at the moment. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, not able to manage sitting upright, he dialled in the number, holding the phone to his ear. She picked up after the third ring.

"You know, I keep telling you to be careful but apparently you don't really listen to orders, do you Sergeant?" was the first thing she said the moment she picked up the phone, causing a half grin to form on Tim's face. "You know, your friend almost gave me a heart attack when he said you'd been shot. Until he went on to elaborate that it was nothing real serious. But I'm still pissed at you."

"Hey Darcy," he said, his voice slightly rusty from the anaesthetic. He might not have wanted to call her about this incident but that didn't mean he wasn't gonna make the most of this conversation with her. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. And just to clear up a few things, Doug's full of shit if he said I got myself shot in the ass. This wasn't my fault. This time anyway."

There was silence on the other end for a moment before she spoke again. "Yeah, I figured as much. You going to tell me what happened or are you going to keep it to yourself?"

"Some dumbass private shot me," he said, deciding she'd probably wring it out of him eventually and there wasn't much point keeping it to himself. On top of that, everything he was on had removed any filter he may have had between his mouth and brain. "Honestly don't know much more than that. Everything's kind of a blur, seeing how fast things happened. And I'm still high as fuck on morphine and anaesthetic."

"Maybe I should get you to call back when you're not so out of it," she mused and Tim could almost see her smirking. "Just don't get yourself into any more trouble in the next hour or so, okay Gutterson? I don't think I can stand too much more excitement for one day."

"I'll do my best," he said, knowing there wasn't too much trouble he could get himself into while he was in the hospital. Then again… who knew? "Bye Darcy. Promise to talk to you as soon as I'm not high on this shit." He hit the end call button and glared over at Doug. "You're such an ass."


	8. Chapter 8

They lost Mason that day. One moment, he had been there with them, running through the town on his point, the next he was gone. Just like that. There was no time to think or process what had happened. It was too fast, moved too quickly and was over before any of them even blinked. He didn't even see the landmine until he stepped on it. And by then, it was too late for anyone to anything for him.

He was gone, blown to the shit that moment his foot had slightly moved from the mine he had stood on. All because he had made an unlucky mistake, one that he couldn't even be blamed for. He had simply been doing his job and it had cost him his life.

It wasn't the first time Tim had watched someone die in combat, wouldn't be the last either (men died all the time in the line of fire, good men who shouldn't have died), but it was the first time he'd ever lost someone he considered a friend, someone he had known since basic. It had knocked the wind from his lungs, felt them burn with smoke from the explosion as he watched on, unable to do a fucking thing about it. He could just stand there, helpless.

Connor had the worst of it. He'd been standing too close to Mason when the mine went off. In his mind (it made no difference if his eyes were open or not, he still saw those bloody images and he knew he'd see them for the rest of his life), Tim could still see parts of his friend sticking the other man, clinging to him. Connor had just laid there, frozen to his spot, the blast of it having knocked him from his feet. He couldn't even seem to brush the blood away. He had just laid there where he had fallen, paralysed, by fear, disbelief, or dazed from the blast, he didn't know.

It was the first time that Tim had ever thrown up when on duty. The nausea seemed to just roll over him in a wave, and he found himself retching by the wall he was standing behind, not caring if it went all over his boots or not. His mind was still too fixated on the scene that had unfolded before him.

No matter how long he'd been at war, nothing could have prepared him for anything quite like that. He could still see it, his mind replaying every moment. Mason making a dash through the street, his foot landing on the mine. Watching as it blew him straight to hell. Connor, lying there on that dusty ground, his face and clothes covered in blood, his mouth hanging open. There was nothing they could say to mask it, and nothing they could do to bring him back.

He had seen men blown up by bombs and landmines before, but never so close. He was normally far enough away from it all that he was simply watching little people through the scope of his rifle. It had always been more surreal that way. Now, now it was anything but.

He could remember watching as Connor seemed to just give up. His back hit the ground, his eyes just staring up at the sky, as if nothing else mattered. Tim found he couldn't move, couldn't make himself get over there and drag the other solider out of the danger zone before it was his turn to end up with the same fate as Mason. It was the sound of gunfire that had finally gotten him moving, forced him out there to drag Connor back out of harm's way.

He hadn't fought him when his hands slipped under his arms, ready to drag him back, and Tim found himself carrying a dead weight. But he didn't care. How could he when he'd already watched one friend die? The medic in their unit took a hold of Connor once Tim pulled him round the corner. Tim had left him then, knowing he was needed elsewhere, despite his shaking legs and roiling stomach.

Mason was the only man they lost. Everything else followed the way it was supposed to and they took their objective without any further trouble. But Tim still couldn't shake the images that burned through his mind. It wasn't long before he was sick again.

He had no idea what happened to Connor, and he found he didn't have the strength to drag himself around to find out. He didn't think he could face anyone at that moment and he was sure as hell Connor wouldn't be able to either. They would all need time, to recover in their own way.

Instead, Tim found himself holed up away from the rest of his unit, trying to put himself back together, one piece at a time. He didn't succeed. He couldn't seem to make his mind shut the fuck up. It just kept going over and over again, playing images he'd rather forget. But he couldn't seem to lock them away as he had done with the others. Maybe it was because he knew Mason, knew what he wanted out of life, things he liked, didn't like. Knew that he had a girlfriend and a two year old daughter waiting back at home for him. A daughter who would never get to see her father again.

In the end, he ended up finding a pen and scrap of paper off someone else. He was driving himself crazy with all his thinking. But he couldn't stop, no matter how much he wanted to. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick again but the feeling eventually passed him by. He penned the letter to her, not caring that his hands wouldn't stop shaking and his already illegible scrawl turning into an even bigger mess. He didn't care that several tears leaked from his eyes and blotched the already stained paper. He didn't care because he knew she wouldn't. Not about something so trivial.

But he did know she'd care about this, about what had happened. She always told him that if he ever needed someone, she was there. That she didn't want to see him keep it bottled up until it eventually poisoned him from the inside out. And as he scratched the words onto the paper before him, he knew it wouldn't bring an end to those memories stuck on repeat in his mind. But he felt a certain type of peace settle upon him. The kind that took those bad memories away for even just the shortest time to give him some relief from the guilt he was feeling.

She couldn't quite bring herself to believe it. While she hadn't really spoken with Mason before, save for one or two words here and there, he had been Tim's friend and she had therefore heard a lot about him, enough to make her feel as if she did know him. So to hear that he was dead had stunned Darcy into silence.

One of her co-workers at the café had gone over to her, asking if she was okay, as if they had seen her look of pain, pain for what Tim and Connor had both witnessed and for what had happened to Mason, though she knew her face was perfectly blanked. She had dismissed them with a few short words, unable to bring herself to say anything further.

 _Darcy_

 _We lost Mason today. He stepped on a mine and that was the end of it. We couldn't save him, there wasn't anything left to save…. Most of him ended up splattered all across the ground._

The words of the letter echoed in her ears and she felt her eyes prick with tears at the thought of what those boys had gone through. They had already lost enough, she thought angrily. Why did they have to lose more? It was bad enough that they had watched a friend die…

 _Connor was covered in pieces of him Darcy. He couldn't move after it happened. He just seemed to lie out there in the middle of the street, just staring out into nothing. Almost as if he couldn't see what was happening around him anymore. Like he was stuck in some sort of trance. Maybe it's finally broken him._

She had no idea how anyone was supposed to come back from something like that. How was anyone supposed to function after watching a friend die in such a horrific manner? And from looking at that shaky handwriting, the blots from tears on the paper, she knew Connor wasn't the only one who was suffering from it all.

 _He only had a few more weeks left before he was going home. He had a girlfriend and a young daughter waiting back at the States for him. They don't even have a body to ship back home for them. Nothing but some of his possessions. What good will they be for his daughter?_

She could hear the bitterness lacing his words, and underneath that, guilt. And she knew exactly what the guilt was for. Tim thought it should have been him that had died out there. He didn't have a family waiting back home for him, a wife or girlfriend who missed him or a little girl who would never understand why her daddy wasn't ever going to come back home. But Darcy also knew he was wrong. He may not have believed he had any of that but she knew he had her. And she didn't want him feeling guilty for something that was out of his control. No one could have predicted that outcome.

 _It doesn't matter how long you've been in the army, doesn't really matter what you've seen during that time. There is nothing that could have prepared us for that. I feel like we failed him, that somehow we should have managed to bring him home, alive. But we didn't… and now we have to live with that._

"Darcy, are you okay?" she heard someone's voice cut through her thoughts, causing the brunette to look up quickly, stray tears rolling down her cheeks. With the corner of her shirt sleeve, she wiped them away, giving a weak smile back towards her concerned manager. She was okay, she was perfectly fine. But the soldiers she had come to know weren't. They were far from it. She couldn't find the words to voice that, so she settled for a nod. Her manager chose to accept that and left her in peace.

 _He didn't deserve what happened to him. The brass will end up saying he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, that he served his country well. But there's always more to it than that. He deserved to go home and be a living fucking person than a dead hero…_

She felt for Mason's family and for the soldiers themselves. They all deserved better than to be over there. And they all deserved to come back home, safe and sound. Each and every one of them. To come back home, see their families and loved ones. Not to be stuck in some desert wasteland.

 _I think this… this is one nightmare I'm never going to be able to get rid of. Maybe Connor wasn't the only one who broke out there today. I'm starting to think I did too. I can't seem to stop the images of it. They just keep playing over and over again in my head, like a fucking disc caught of repeat. It doesn't matter if my eyes are open or closed. It's all I can see._

 _I've resorted to trying to picture you, doing something so ridiculously normal. It works, for a while, before those memories come back to haunt me. But I don't think I'd get through this without you Darcy. Not without losing part of my own damn sanity…_

That was where the letter had ended. It was almost as if he couldn't force himself to write anymore about it. And she understood. She was surprised he had been able to write that much to her without completely losing it. She was sure that she would have bawled her eyes out, trying to write something so difficult. She had found it hard enough to read.

There was a lump in her throat that she hadn't noticed before. But she knew what had put it there. And for the first time in a long time, Darcy King found herself praying. Praying to a God she didn't believe in to bring home her soldier alive and well.


	9. Chapter 9

With the letter clutched in her hand, she rang the doorbell just once. The address was scribbled on the paper with Tim's usual messy handwriting along with a note saying she didn't need to do this, that the army could do it instead. It was their job after all. But Darcy felt that she did need to do this. Somehow, she knew it would simply be better if she did it, in person that over a telephone. The army was too cold, too impersonal.

A pretty blonde woman opened the door, a small girl wrapped around her legs. She seemed rather surprised to see Darcy standing there, confusion etched onto her features and all of a sudden, the brunette felt as if her tongue had shrivelled up, taking the words with it. How was anyone supposed to deliver news like this?

In those few moments that Darcy didn't speak, the blonde seemed to have worked out exactly what had happened. Her hand flew over her mouth, a desperate choking sound filling the silence as she sank down to her knees, tears running down her cheeks. The little girl just stared back and forth between her mother and Darcy with those wide innocent eyes of hers, not knowing what was happening, why her mother was on the ground, crying.

Darcy knelt beside her, her hand gently touching the other woman on the soldier, understanding etched onto her face. She knew. But she had been lucky. The blonde woman had fallen forward into her embrace, sobs racking through her body. Darcy simply held her, letting her cry against her shoulder until the tears dried up and there was nothing left to cry.

She hadn't been sure about this, not in the beginning. What was one supposed to say? I'm sorry for your loss just seemed so… inadequate. Hollow even. But she also knew she simply had to try. If it had been her, she knew she would have wanted someone, anyone, other than some army officer and their detached emotions, to inform her of Tim's death. To have someone there to hold her, rather than breaking into pieces by herself.

Knowing what to say next, when all the tears finally ran out and some semblance of composure came back, was going to be the hardest part. But she had read Tim's letter, understood, at least partially, what had happened. And so she could tell what she knew about it. She just hoped she could find the right words she needed.

She could recall how her aunt had told her the story of what the wives of the soldiers had done during Vietnam. How they, rather than the officers, had gone to see the wives of the deceased to break the news. It had been their way of contributing and doing what they could to lessen a harsh reality. Maybe that was why she had to do this. Or because maybe she knew it was the right thing to do. She didn't know for sure.

"What happened?" Those were the two words that Darcy had been expecting to hear when the tears had all dried up and the blonde, her name was Anita she reminded herself, had managed to gain some level of composure.

She had sent the little girl back to play in her room, something that Darcy was immediately grateful for. She hadn't been sure if she'd be able to speak of this with that innocent child watching her. She felt guilty enough as it was. Tim was still alive, but Anita had lost the man she loved. And that was what made Darcy feel terrible.

For the briefest moment, after she asked the question, Darcy found that she hesitated, her mind scrambling to come up with the best way to tell her what had happened, how Mason had died. She couldn't really use Tim's words he'd written on the letter. That would have been too raw, too painful. She'd had a hard enough time reading that. To put Anita through that never once crossed her mind.

"He was on patrol," she began, figuring out her best course. She kept her voice low, and her eyes locked onto the blonde's face, who was staring down at her twisted hands, the table between them. "Somewhere in the Kunar Province. They had to take this little town that Intelligence had told them was clear of anything too disastrous. It was meant to be a quick operation. Wasn't even supposed to take them the whole day. Maybe a few hours at the most. Mason took point on the patrol. It was all supposed to go smoothly. But apparently it didn't. He, um… they said he stepped on a mine."

Anita gave a faint whimper, causing Darcy to pause with what she had been saying. She reached across the table, grasping the other woman's hand in hers. With a watery smile, Anita raised her head, gesturing for the brunette to continue.

"He didn't feel anything," she continued, though she had no idea if that was true or not. She could only hope it was. Tim had told her the whole thing had been over in a matter of minutes and Darcy wanted to firmly believe that because of that, there had been no chance to feel pain. And she wanted nothing more than to pass that sliver of hope onto Anita, wanting to do anything she could to lessen the pain. "One of the men he served with, a friend of mine, said he didn't."

As if mentioning Tim had acted like a trigger, Darcy found she was remembering something. Withdrawing one hand, she reached into her shirt pocket, pulling out the dog tags that Tim had sent with the letter when she had told him she ought to be the one to deliver the news. Without a word, she gently pried open Anita's hand, pressing the cool metal against them, before gently closing it back into a fist around the tags.

She took note as the woman's eyes welled up with tears and it bothered her she had nothing else to give her. Nothing else left of the man she had loved but those tags. Darcy wasn't sure there was anything worse. Dying was one thing but to never be able to say goodbye, to have no body for closure, would have to be far more painful.

"The army has the rest of his things to send over when they get the chance but my friend sent those so that you could have them sooner," she told the blonde quietly. "I know it isn't much, not on the grand scale of things, but I'm sure Mason would have wanted you to have them." As something of a reminder of him, she thought to herself. Though a poor reminder they would serve to be.

"Thank you," she heard Anita whisper in response, her voice cracking slightly. There were stray tears streaking her face, and the brunette felt bloody horrible. Anita didn't have to elaborate any further on what she said. Darcy had understood.

They held the funeral (memorial was a better word in his point of view) a few days after the incident. It wasn't going to be much of a funeral, Tim had thought bitterly. There wasn't even a body to bury. There was nothing but an empty coffin. He still couldn't shake the image of Mason standing on that fucking mind from his head. He'd tried everything, and that included getting blind drunk. It hadn't worked. All it had done was earn him a reprimand from HQ, though they didn't bother busting him back down to private.

He figured that was due to them believing he'd been through enough these last few days, and while that was true, part of Tim wished they'd stop treating him and Connor like they were some fucking fragile dolls. Half of him wished they had demoted him down to private, just to keep him feeling normal.

He stood there in that crowd, surrounded by his men, yet feeling more alone than he had done in a long time. They had asked if he wanted to be one of the bearers, something that Tim had turned down automatically. He wasn't quite sure if he'd be able to without having some form of break down. It was probably better he didn't.

Soldiers were meant to be tough, to march on through anything. They were meant to be some unstoppable force that just kept on going, no matter how hard things got. But Tim also knew that everyone had their breaking point. Didn't matter whether they were soldiers or not. In the end, when shit ended up being too much, everyone cracked. After seeing so much shit over here, he was surprised he hadn't hit his sooner.

He reminded himself that it could have been worse. That he could have been dead, lying in an identical box to the one they were bringing towards him. Though he wasn't quite sure being alive in this shit fucking country was any better. Especially if it meant he had to watch others around him die. He sympathised with those who had lived with this every day of their lives.

He found himself tuning out of the memorial service. Not out of disrespect to Mason, but because he didn't want to hear whatever bullshit the CO came up with. He'd heard it all before. These things never changed, save for the names of the fallen and the places they had gone down.

He recalled a poem one of the Australian soldiers had shared with him, during his first tour over here when he had been new at all this. It had come about after watching one of the men from his company taking a bullet to the head. Thinking about it now, Tim realised how damn appropriate it was for this entire situation.

He watched on as they set the empty casket at the base of the podium. He hardly listened as the Commissioned Officers went through their speeches, proclaiming what a hero Mason Parker was, that he had died serving his country. Tim wouldn't argue with the first part, that he had indeed been a hero. Not in the way they were proclaiming, but one nonetheless. But he had died because intelligence had completely fucked up on their job.

So lost in his own thoughts, he started when they called him up there to say a few words for the deceased. Tim didn't know what the fuck he could possibly say that hadn't already been covered, but he shuffled his way up to that empty box anyway. As he stood behind that podium, thoughts racing through his mind, he figured it was best to say whatever he was thinking.

"Mason Parker was a good friend and an even better solider," he started, not wanting to make this too long but needing to get his point across. Talking had never been his strong point and part of him felt like he was about to fail his friend. "There had been so many times he'd pulled me or the rest of the platoon out of some form of trouble. He was the one person you could always rely on to have your back when you needed it. He may be gone now, but that doesn't mean any of us will ever forget him or what he did for the Rangers."

Standing up there, staring at the sea of faces, he found himself running out of words to say. It wasn't easy to honour a dead friend's memory properly, but the idea came to Tim in a heartbeat. It had been there, at the back of his mind, the moment since he had thought about it. And he decided to go ahead with it.

It wasn't just Mason he wanted to honour today, though his friend certainly took precedent, but the other soldiers that had fallen in combat during their time over here in the desert, like his spotter during that ambush when he had been on the tanks, and the other men who had served in his company. Steeling himself, he took a breath and continued.

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them."

Having said his part, and hopefully making the impact he had wanted to, Tim made his way out from behind the podium, never once looking back at the faces of his fellow soldiers. He paused once in front of that empty coffin, raising his right hand as he saluted the memory of the man he had served with.


	10. Chapter 10

_I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. It really means a lot to me that so many people are actually enjoying it._

"So how did it go?" was the first thing he was asked when he got back from Battalion Headquarters to where his friend was sitting, his rifle pulled apart on front of him. Tim gave a slight shrug at Doug's question, still finding it rather strange that it was just the two of them left.

After Mason's death, they had ended up shipping Connor back home, despite not being anywhere near finished his tour. Something inside of him broke after witnessing that event. Something that wouldn't be easy to fix, especially not if he stayed over here any longer. No one thought any less of him for it. Tim's stomach still turned when he thought of Connor just lying there in the middle of a battlefield, wearing parts of Mason. He could hardly imagine how Connor himself must have felt, seeing as he had been the one closest to the blast.

He had been surprised he'd managed to mostly get a grip on himself, at least enough to hide what he was thinking when others asked. It still didn't change the fact that some nights he woke up in a cold sweat, that scene playing over and over again in his head.

"Fine," he replied, forcing himself to stop thinking about the incident. Thinking about it wouldn't change a fucking thing. Doug continued to stare at him, as if expecting more than just 'fine'. He supposed it the positions were reversed, he'd expect the same thing. "They promoted me. First Sergeant."

When Battalion called him in, that was the last thing Tim had expected to hear. Part of him had expected to hear that he was going home, that he, like Connor, had finally snapped. He had been hiding it well but sometimes even the best couldn't hide it forever. Instead, they had shaken his hand, told him he had performed well under fire and promoted him to First Sergeant all within a matter of half an hour, leaving him reeling from how fast it had all happened.

He still wasn't quite sure what he thought of that idea but he figured it was something he needed time to get used to. First Sergeant. Hell, he wasn't quite sure how that happened. All he had done was his job. Doug gave him a grin, clapping him on the back.

"Congrats man," he told him, clearly pleased with his friend and the promotion he'd been given, though Tim found himself feeling mildly uncomfortable with it all. "I can't think of anyone else who'd make a better First Sergeant."

In all honesty, Tim could think of at least half a dozen other people who would have made a better First Sergeant than him. And one of those people was currently staring right back at him, a wide grin on his face. But Doug had never wanted to be anything more than a field sergeant. Which was how Tim knew he was sincere with what he was saying.

"Thanks," he replied awkwardly, shuffling his feet as he did, the next part of his sentence coming out as a fast mumble. "I better get started on a letter to Darcy, just to let her know about what's happening."

He hadn't realised it was possible for a person's smile to get any wider without their whole fucking face cracking but the moment he said that, no matter how quick and under his breath it had been, that was exactly what he had witnessed.

"So when are you actually going to get off your ass and ask that woman out?" Doug asked him innocently, causing Tim to swear internally, knowing he had walked straight into that one. He should have just kept his mouth shut. "As much as she must love you to put up with your bullshit, she's not going to wait forever."

"She deserves better. Someone who isn't going to wake up in the middle of the night screaming because he thinks he's back over here," the sniper muttered. Someone who wasn't constantly putting his life in the line of fire, who could be there for her. Someone who wasn't a complete fuck up.

It was one thing for Tim to be in love with the woman who had been the one constant thing in his life since they'd met, but that didn't mean she needed to feel the same way. Hell, she had a stable life back in the States. She didn't need someone like him. Not wanting to fuck everything up for her was the main reason Tim hadn't told her shit about what he felt. That and he had no fucking idea how to discuss emotions without seeming like a fucking mental case.

Doug just gave him that look he reserved strictly for people he thought were fucking idiots. "What the fuck would you know Gutterson?" he asked. "Have you ever considered asking her what she needs? Or are you just being a chauvinist asshole and making assumptions instead? You think she sticks around simply cause you're pretty? If she wanted that and nothing else, I'm sure she could have her choice of men without all the drama involved. But no, she's still here because she actually cares about you. You know when you were shot, she freaked out. She thought she lost you Gutterson. You should have heard the relief when I told her you were fine."

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but was instantly cut off by the rest of Doug's lecture before he could. "You know, I think that maybe, just maybe, she loves you just as much as you love her. Not sure why seeing as you're kind of an asshole but she does. So get your shit together and let her know before you lose her."

Finally finished, he sat back, leaving Tim standing there, speechless and completely unsure of what just happened. It had been a while since he had heard one of Doug's 'You're a fucking dipshit' speeches, though he had to admit most of the times they weren't directed at him. He was beginning to understand how the new recruits felt when they fucked up.

He opened his mouth to say something again but then closed it, deciding against it. Telling Doug he was right wasn't quite as bad as telling one of the others the same thing but he wasn't quite sure he wanted to hear 'I told you so'.

 _Dearest Darcy_

 _I know it's been a while since I've had any good news or even just something normal to talk about that doesn't involve someone getting shot at or dying. But we've been pulled off the front line for a while, so hopefully things should go back to being relatively normal for a while. At least, as normal as things can get over here._

 _Connor went home the other day. The pressure of it all finally ended up getting to him. None of us blame him for it though. War can be hell sometimes. I suppose the only difference between the two is that there aren't any innocent bystanders in hell. So that just leaves Doug and myself now. It's rather strange just having the two of us now. You don't really appreciate others until they're gone, do you?_

 _HQ decided to promote me today to First Sergeant. It came as a shock, all things considered. Not really sure if I'm the right person for the job. I'm sure there would have been others who would have been better suited. Writing that, I can just picture you telling me that I'm wrong. Seeing as you're the voice of reason and all that._

 _So I'll just do myself a favour and listen to you before you even write back telling me what I already know. That's probably the smartest thing I can do, huh Darcy?_

 _I haven't had the chance to ask how it went informing Mason's girlfriend of what happened. You know you really didn't have to do that. It is the army's job but I think she might have appreciated that more than hearing from it over the phone. Maybe if you get the chance later, you can tell me all about it._

 _Well, I've run out of shit to write about this time around so I'll finish this here. Let's hope the next time I hear from you, everything's going perfectly fine at home as well. Sorry for dragging you into my shut over this last week._

 _Tim_

As she came to the end of the letter, Darcy found herself facing conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was sad to hear about Connor and how things had finally gotten to be too much for him (it sounded strongly like he was facing PTSD) and on the other, she was pleased to hear about Tim's promotion to First Sergeant.

He had been right about one thing. She certainly would have agreed with him as the choice for the position. After everything that he had been through, and the way he had managed to keep moving through it, that made him a fine example for a leader, even if he didn't believe it.

"Is that from the mystery boyfriend?" she heard her work colleague Veronica ask as she scooted into the chair beside the brunette, taking her break while she could. Darcy felt her face flush slightly under her friend's gaze, all the while shaking her head.

"Not so much boyfriend as just a friend," she explained, her cheeks still mildly warm as she tried to fight that feeling back down. "Tim Gutterson. He's the soldier I picked up in that charity drive. We've been writing to each other for a while now."

Veronica just gave her a wicked grin, as if she didn't believe her. Sighing, Darcy couldn't quite blame her. She hardly believed herself anymore when she kept repeating that lie. They had been through too much together, despite being separate by a goddamn ocean, to be classified as 'just friends'. Though she wasn't sure she'd call him her mystery boyfriend either.

"Here," she said to the other woman, pulling out his latest photo, and catching sight of the First Sergeant stripes now on his uniform. She felt the corners of her lips turn up into a proud smile upon seeing them. "This is Tim."

Veronica took the photo from her hands, giving a low whistle of approval, causing the blush that Darcy had fought so hard to get rid of to reappear within a matter of moments. Perhaps handing Veronica the photo hadn't been such a great idea, though the reaction was one she should have expected.

"Damn girl, no wonder you've been keeping the mystery soldier under wraps. He's fucking hot. I'm surprised he doesn't already have a girlfriend. He's sure something. You ever fantasise about him?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, as she handed the picture back to Darcy. "Especially in that uniform?"

"Oh my god, I'm leaving," the brunette told her, causing Veronica to laugh. She could feel the tips of her ears burning in embarrassment. In a sense, she was rather grateful that Tim was in Afghanistan because at least then she wouldn't have to face him after this conversation. It was going to be hard enough onto write to him now. "This was not a conversation I was planning on having today or any other day for that matter."

She hastily stuffed the letter and photo back into the opened envelope, trying to focus on that and nothing else in order to get rid of that damn blush. There was no way in hell she was going to admit that, yes, she had thought about it a couple of times. Anyone in their right mind probably would have. She wasn't any different from the rest of them.

"You have," Veronica squealed, her hands clapping together in glee, figuring it out from Darcy's refusal to talk about it. She had pretty much given up trying to get of the blush by now. It appeared to be a waste of time. "I mean, not that I blame you. He is very handsome. I know I sure would."

"I am not talking about my non-existent sex life," she groaned, pushing the chair away from the table, hearing it clatter in her hurry to get back out to the front room, despite the customers and their inquisitive glances they would no doubt be throwing in her direction due to her appearance. "Especially not at work."

"This conversation isn't over missy," she heard Veronica call after her, causing Darcy to stumble over her own feet. For some reason, Darcy really didn't doubt that.


	11. Chapter 11

"Very nice, your girlfriend will like, yes?" the stall owner kept pressing him, holding the pendant out to the sniper, who in turn kept shaking his head, trying to tell him no, he wasn't interested. The man in question didn't seem to appear to want to take no for an answer however.

He'd come to the bazaar out of boredom. He'd had enough of sitting around base with nothing to do but clean his rifle and listen to some of the others talk shit. So when Doug told him he was headed into the town, Tim decided he might as well go with him. It had been fine, until this particular merchant had pulled him to one side the moment he had paused beside that stall.

Getting pulled to one side was a polite way of saying it. The man had practically attached himself to Tim's arm and forcefully dragged him into the stall, pointing at the pieces of jewellery on the table with aggression that would have made even the most seasoned shopper cringed. And Tim was an amateur at this shit.

It was his fault, of course. He had paused when he saw the pendant in question, his mind flashing to Darcy the moment he saw it. It made him realise that he'd never sent her anything during the entire time they'd known each other. It had been a brief hesitation, and the thought was gone just as quickly, but that hesitation had been enough for the owner to seize upon. Which was how he had ended up in his current predicament.

He knew better. The merchants were like fucking land sharks. Give them and inch and they took a mile, he thought to himself, wondering how the hell he was supposed to talk himself out of this. Staying back at base would have been a better option but it was too late for regrets. The next time Tim would let Doug go shopping for his sister on his fucking own.

"No, no girlfriend," he replied, knowing he didn't sound all that convincing, considering Darcy had been the first person to pop into his mind. The man obviously thought so too, as he thrust the pendant back towards Tim's face.

"But someone special, no?" the man asked, causing Tim to repress a groan. He was certainly right on that respect, though Tim had no fucking clue what he was supposed to say or do about it. He was out of his depth when it came to Darcy King. Half the time he wasn't sure whether he was sinking or swimming.

There'd never been anyone quite like her before. There had been other women of course, but they couldn't accept him for who he was. They'd tried to change him, unable to accept the fact that he was a soldier first and foremost, that he was shit at romance or offering comfort and advice, that sarcasm seemed to be his best defence. They all wanted something else, something that he couldn't, wouldn't, offer and when they found they couldn't change him, they'd moved along instead.

Then Darcy came along. Darcy, who swore as much or even more than he did, who seemed to accept that he wasn't the polished man most women wanted, who'd never pushed for romance or anything of the sort. She was happy with him the way he was and Tim finally realised that was why he'd fallen in love with her. Because she was different and because she (if Doug was to be believed) loved him for who he was.

"Yes, there's someone special," he admitted grudgingly, realising this was the first time he'd ever confessed it to anyone other than Doug. "Aw, fuck it. What do you want for it?"

Twenty minutes and a shit ton of haggling later, the pendant was secured within Tim's pocket. Before the merchant could talk him buying anything further and completely bankrupt him, the sniper got the hell out of there.

He decided to hang onto the pendant until he was shipped back, figuring he'd give it to the brunette when he got back to the States. It was something he'd be best off doing in person, than through the mail. Setting it to one side, he glanced up at the sound of cursing, catching sight of Doug with an armful of shit, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

"What the fuck are you going to do with all of that?" he asked, watching as his friend dumped everything onto his bed. Tim wasn't even sure what half of it was but he decided against asking. "You've only got one sister, man, not an army. Unless of course you're planning on sharing that out with the Rangers."

Doug just gave him a grin, apparently not giving a flying fuck what Tim thought. The sniper held up his hands in mock defence, knowing he wasn't exactly entitled to give anyone shit at the moment, considering the fact he'd been talked into buying jewellery for his 'girlfriend'.

"Where did you disappear to anyway?" Doug asked him, causing Tim to shrug slightly, a mild grimace forming on h's face as he rethought about the land shark that had grabbed him and refused to let go. "One moment you were there, the next you just vanished on me."

"I was kidnapped by one of the merchants. I thought you were going to have to call in the whole fucking squad to get me out of there," he replied, avoiding mentioning the pendant. He didn't care how understanding Doug might be when it came to him trying to work out his fucked up feelings for Darcy, it still wouldn't stop him from giving Tim all kinds of shit.

There was silence after that, though neither one of them had ever minded. Instead it gave Tim a chance to excuse himself, wanting to make a call while he still could. His time up on the base was nearly over and he'd heard that sometime next week, he'd be back out on the front line.

Back out there amid the smoke and the gunfire. He wondered if he'd freeze once he was back out there, and prove that maybe they were wrong in promoting him to First Sergeant. Since Mason's death, he hadn't been back out there, aside from that moment when he'd pulled Connor out of the line of fire. He guessed he wouldn't know until it had actually happened.

Somehow, he really didn't think he would freeze and that's what scared him the most. Normal people wouldn't react like he did, wouldn't want to go back out there if they could help it. But a part of him did what to get back out there and he was pretty fucking sure that part of him was crazy.

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he entered the communications room, wanting, needing, some semblance of normal while he could still get it. As he dialled her number, his hand closed around that pendant he had bought (he'd come to think of it as a part of her, a part he could hold while he was over here), listening to the phone ring as he waited for her to pick up.

The phone rang while she was outside, shrill and demanding her attention and cutting through the silence of her weekend off. Pushing her sunglass to rest on the top of her head and sliding off the poolside lounge, she hurried inside before she missed the call. It was on its final rings when she picked it up.

"Hello?" she answered, sounding slightly out of breath from her sprint back into the house. Her shades had slipped down in her haste and she pushed them back up again, not even thinking about the action. She had her fingers crossed, hoping it was who she had been expecting to hear from. She wasn't sure it would be, despite her wishing.

"Did you just run a marathon or something Darcy?" she heard Tim's familiar voice asking from the other side. A wide grin slipped across her features at the sound of his voice, delighted by his unexpected call. It had been a while since his last call, though he had continued to write to her. She was pretty sure the last time they spoke on the phone was when he'd gotten himself shot in the ass. And that had been two minutes at the most.

"The or something is probably the best explanation," she replied with a faint laugh when she heard his own snort of amusement come through the line. "It's finally sunny outside and I was trying to make the most of it while I could."

"If you're sun tanning, please tell me you're not wearing anything," he said, causing the brunette to slap a hand against her forehead, her next lot of words dying on the tip of her tongue. She could just about see the shit eating grin that would no doubt be on his face. She wasn't sure if all soldiers had the ability to make something innocent sound dirty or if it was just Tim. Knowing her luck, it was probably just Tim. "If naked is a too bit much, I'll accept a bikini."

Of course he would. What else was she supposed to expect? But he'd walked straight into that one and Darcy wasn't exactly going to let him get off lightly. Twirling the cord of the phone around her finger, she allowed herself a brief smile, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"Yes Tim I'm completely fucking naked right now and Nick is enjoying the show that you can't," she snarked back, satisfied to hear him choke on the words for a change, obviously having not expected to hear her agree with him. "Actually that's not completely true. I have a pair of sunglasses and stripper heels on."

"This is a wet dream isn't it?" he muttered, sounding a little stunned by her words, as if he couldn't actually believe what she was saying. "I'm not actually talking to you. This is just my brain having a sex deprived meltdown that is part horror story because your neighbour should not be in this dream."

Darcy resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though she couldn't quite stop herself from smirking at his response. She wasn't quite sure what sort of dreams he usually had but she was beginning to think she was better off not knowing. Typical male, she thought to herself with a shake of her head, more amused than anything.

"No Gutterson, this is not a dream. You're actually talking to me or trying to hit me up. I'm not sure which yet. Lucky for you, or maybe more lucky for me, I'm not naked and I don't have stripper heels," Darcy told him, her smirk growing wider. "I have clothes on, and no, not a bikini. Fuck, you need to get yourself laid and soon if you're really that desperate you've taken to picturing me naked."

"I'm trying but you're not exactly helping," he shot back. It never ceased to amaze her at how comfortable she had grown with the Ranger that conversations like this didn't bother her. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks as Veronica's words from earlier that week came back to her. "You could be a little more sympathetic to my problem Darcy. Other than naked sunbaking and fulfilling my wishful thinking, how's everything?"

"Fine Tim, just fine," the brunette replied, regaining control over the colour of her cheeks. I just miss you and wish you were actually here, she thought to herself, though the words never came out of her mouth. There were some things, no matter how long she knew him, she just couldn't quite say.

"Shi fucker," she heard him swear, causing her to raise an eyebrow slightly at his more than colourful language, wondering what was happening on the other end. "They're going to cut me off, for fuck's sake. Take care of yourself Darcy. I'll write to you soon."

"Yeah, you too Sergeant," she told him before the phone could cut her off. She held the receiver to her ear for a moment longer before whispering 'love you' as she placed it back down on the receiver. What she didn't know was that he had heard her before the connection broke. And she didn't realise that it had caused him to freeze, like a deer caught in a headlight, knowing he hadn't said it back.


	12. Chapter 12

"No," she said, her tone final and brooking no room for argument. Her steely gaze met his without blinking and it was Nick that looked away first, squirming slightly. "Now would you kindly fuck off? I have things I need to do and you're simply in my way."

"Darcy, I wouldn't ask you if this wasn't important to me," he pleaded with her, though he still couldn't quite meet her eyes after she had stared him down. The brunette resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his begging, not finding it endearing like she supposed he had been hoping for. He had gotten himself into this situation and she found she had no sympathy for him. "Look, it's just for a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking."

When Nick had asked her to dinner, she hadn't been all that surprised. It wasn't the first time he'd asked her out after all. But what did surprise her was the reason behind it this time. He had been stupidly bragging to his ex-girlfriend that he had moved on from her and had found someone new. Which in turn had led to her proposing a double date so that she could met his new 'girlfriend'. And now here they were, in this current situation.

Perhaps if it had been someone else asking her, she might have accepted, despite knowing it would have been the most awkward dinner date she'd ever go on. Then again, anyone foolish enough to get into this situation (yes, even Tim, no matter what or how she felt for him) should be forced to deal with it. It was that bloody simple. And she did not need to be dragged into it.

They had spoken a few times since her confession, though neither of them had mentioned it. Which led her to believe that he hadn't caught what she had said. Not that it mattered. She hadn't intended for him to hear it anyway. She hadn't even been aware she'd said anything until she'd hung up the phone and it sunk in.

Darcy hadn't quite been able to believe she'd actually said what she did, and for a while, she had been hesitant in contacting him again. But when he rung her two days later, and didn't bring the topic up, she presumed that she was in the clear. While a part of her did what Tim to know, another part wasn't quite sure how he'd handle hearing something like that.

It was Nick's voice that drew her back into reality, tearing her away from her thoughts. He was still wearing that pleading look on his face but she found she wasn't about to budge. This was his own damn fault and he could bloody well fix it. "So will you do it?" she heard him ask.

"For the last fucking time, no," she replied, annoyance colouring her tone. "You got yourself into this mess. You get yourself back out of it. Now go fucking home Nick. Or go bother someone else. I don't care which, just as long as I don't have to put up with you anymore."

"You'd do it if it was Gutterson," he said, finally crossing the line, and causing her temper to fray. "You wouldn't even hesitate for that asshole. I bet the moment he asked you, you would have said yes." She didn't know if it was because he was completely oblivious to the line he had stepped across or simply didn't give a damn. Either way, it was the last thing he said. Darcy split her knuckles open on his teeth when she punched him.

Pain coursed through her hand, blood dripping down along her fingers from the open split she had caused, but she wouldn't have hesitated to do it again. A combination of shock and pain had flew onto Nick's features as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stop his own blood that formed from his busted lip.

For a moment he just stared at her, his eyes wide, as if unable to believe she'd actually hit him. But eventually he must have caught his senses, because he slowly back away from the brunette, disappearing back to his side of the fence. Darcy lingered for a moment longer, bringing her injured hand up for inspection.

She couldn't really tell how badly she had damaged it underneath all the blood. With a grimace, she headed towards the garden tap, turning it on as she held her hand under the steady stream of water. It stung, causing her to bite down on her lip.

With most of the blood gone, she took a closer look at her hand. It wasn't pretty, but she figured she wouldn't need stitches. Though she had a feeling it was going to scar. The bleeding started again, mingled with the water this time. Turning off the tap, Darcy headed into the house, knowing she needed to wrap it up.

She wasn't quite sure what had possessed her to do such a thing, only that the moment Nick had made his comment, she had seen red in a fit of anger. She wasn't sure if it had been because of Tim and the comments Nick had aimed towards that she had hit the man, or if it was to do with her own pride when he had implied that she would do anything for the soldier, even if it meant whoring herself out. Either way, she wouldn't have changed a damn thing.

She found the first aid kit, and pulled it down off the shelf, wincing in pain as she moved her hand the wrong way. Seating herself at the kitchen table, she rummaged through until she found a bandage, beginning the awkward process of wrapping her own hand up. It took her a few tries and a great deal of cursing at Nick for his stupidity, but she eventually got it.

She didn't bother to clean up her mess straight away. Instead she chose to just sit there for a while, resting her injured hand. The next few days at work were certainly going to be interesting, she thought wryly to herself. All because Nick didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. She shook her head in exasperation, and dragged the notepad towards her. The pain in her hand flared again but it was worth it. It had been a pretty impressive punch.

That was his girl. Tim couldn't quite stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he reread Darcy's letter for the third time. There was a part of him wanted to knock the son of a bitch out for being the reason she had busted her hand open and for putting her into that situation to begin with but most of him was simply fucking proud of her.

Proud because she could handle her own when faced with a challenge. Proud because she didn't simply back down or give in like others might have the moment the pressure got to them. She was a fighter, though she didn't always show it. He'd known it from the start though, after the first few letters she had sent him. Anyone who could put up with him and his bullshit certainly wasn't faint of heart or whatever the fuck the expression was.

And it made Tim realise that even if something happened over here to him, she'd get through it, no matter how hard it might be. Because that was who she was. He honestly doubted there would be anything that could hold her back.

That wide smirk still on his face, he tucked away her letter into the tin he had, along with all of the other letters she had sent him. For a moment, he paused, catching sight of the various letters resting on the bottom of the tin, weighed down by her pendant. The other stuff she had sent him (like his pink scarf, which he still wore whenever it ended up too fucking cold for his likening and to hell with whatever anyone else thought) he kept in his footlocker.

His fingertips lightly brushed across the paper, and the stone, as if that action would somehow bring him closer to her, before he sealed the lid again, pushing the tin back onto the temporary table beside his bed. His thoughts returned to what she had written and he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

 _I know I should probably feel bad about what I did, but I honestly cannot bring myself to give a damn. That son of a fucking bitch shouldn't have implied what he did. The only thing I regret about it was the fact I'm going to be off work for a few days. His teeth were a little bit harder than I had expected when I hit him. It's going to leave a rather unladylike scar…_

"What the hell are you smirking about Gutterson?" the voice said, causing Tim to snap out of his silent gloating for Darcy's fantastic right hook, catching sight of Doug entering the quarters, in what appeared to be a hurry. He watched as the other soldier moved towards his bed, dragging out the army duffel and starting to shove items of seeming importance into it. "Actually, don't tell me. I can guess. She's tall, brunette and sassy to boot. Am I right?"

"You're fucking hilarious," Tim told him dryly, though he had to wonder if he was now suddenly that predictable when it came to Darcy. Judging by Doug's look, he was beginning to think that maybe he was. "Yes, you're right. I got her letter today. Do you know our Darcy has one hell of a right hook? She gave her neighbour a busted lip. Course, the asshole had it coming from the sounds of it."

Doug just blinked, clearly having not expected that to be what Tim had been thinking about, which in turn caused the sniper's grin to grow again. It was rare anyone managed to surprise the soldier. He had an uncanny ability to know shit before anyone else did. Which in turn served to drive Tim batshit crazy more often than not. Especially when it turned out he was right. Something he normally was.

"You can sure pick them Gutterson," he mused with a grin of his own before it faded into something slightly more serious. "I'm heading out, by the way. They've got a target they want us to check out. It'll be a couple of days at most. Apparently it isn't anything much but still… Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. I'd hate to be the one to explain to your girlfriend if that's the case."

A sombre mood settled over the tent at Doug's words. Since Mason's death… well, now they both knew that it didn't matter how good they were or how careful they might be. Neither one of them was bullet proof. And the wrong move could mean the end for either of them. He'd seen that first hand.

Those dreams still haunted him at night. They weren't as bad as they had been at first. Getting it off his chest had taken the edge off, but they were still there. Some nights, he found himself sitting up, unable to sleep, a cigarette dangling between his lips because of those nightmares.

They had always known there was a chance of them getting shot, or something similar, of course, but after watching someone as untouchable, or at least seemingly untouchable, as Mason die right in front of them made them revaluate what they actually thought they knew. Somehow, watching a close friend die made it seem real.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tim replied, covering up his moment of hesitation as best as he could, even forcing his smirk back onto his face. "Besides, the only stupid thing I'm contemplating on doing right now is proposing to Darcy. I think I'm in love with that woman."

Uttering those few words finally made Tim realise something. Despite whatever his feelings had been in the past (and he wasn't entirely too sure what they were. Complicated was his only answer), and despite what he thought, he knew for certain now that Darcy King was it for him. There would never be another quite like her. And he realised that one of these days he was going to have to tell her. Or he was going to lose her.


	13. Chapter 13

He was coming home. At least, that was what his letter told her anyway. He had one final patrol to go on before they shipped him out, but the words were there, written down on paper. Tim was finally coming home. Darcy couldn't seem to bring herself to believe it.

For a long time, she simply stared down at the messy handwriting on the page in front of her, not even blinking, afraid that if she did, those words would vanish on her. Or that she would wake up and find it was nothing more than a dream. Neither option seemed to be one she liked.

She had been stunned when she read those words and the brunette had found she needed to read the letter twice, to make sure she wasn't seeing things. But it was there, written down in Tim's now familiar messy scrawl. And she couldn't stop the smile that had spread across her face after she came to realise it was true.

While she had no idea where home was for the Ranger, she was just grateful he was coming back. After all the shit he had been through, that he had seen, during his tour of duty over there…. Darcy shook her head, trying to clear that though from her mind. She knew the resulting image wasn't pretty and the though made her nauseous. Not that she had any real reason to be, she scolded herself. She wasn't the one that had to see it happen.

She forced those thoughts away, not wanting to think about it any longer than she had to, instead focusing on the good news she held in her hands. Her smile, which had momentarily faltered, soon reappeared as she reread the letter that Tim had sent to her.

 _Dear Darcy_

 _I got my orders today. Apparently, they're sending me home. After spending eighteen months in this place, it's sort of hard to believe. I keep thinking that it's a dream or a nightmare, or whatever the fuck it's called. But it's not._

 _We've got one last patrol in the next couple of days to head out on before I can pack my bags and say good riddance to this place. Hopefully it's nothing much. But then again, the amount of times the brass has fucked us over with their intelligence makes that hard to believe. But don't worry too much. I'll be home before we both know it._

 _I told you once if I made it out of this shithole alive, I'd come and visit you. It looks like I've got a promise to keep, don't I? Well, when I get back over there, don't be surprised to see me standing on your doorstep. I'll tell you right now, that's probably what will happen. I'll even bring you flowers. Or chocolate. Whatever you prefer. And I'll wear that pink scarf just so you know who it is._

 _I won't make this too long, so I guess I'll end it here. But I'll see you soon, Darcy._

 _Tim_

The thought of Tim showing up on her front step was an interesting one. She didn't bother to ask how he'd find it. Somehow, the military had all sorts of connections. But she found she wouldn't complain if he did show up without warning. The thought of him bringing her flowers was the one that had amused her though. During the whole time she had known Tim Gutterson, he had never once struck her as the sort of person to bring anyone flowers.

If she was being honest, she didn't care if he brought the flowers or not. All she was worried about was that he made it home safely. Despite being near the end of his tour, she knew that things could still go horribly wrong. And as much as she didn't want to think about that as a possibly, she couldn't deny it was still one.

He ran. There was nothing else for him to do but run. He could hear the thudding of his boots on the dry ground, his ragged breathing as his lungs screamed for more air. Still, he pushed himself forward, paying no attention to that fact. The only thing he could think about was that he needed to get out of there before it was too late.

But when the building exploded, he was still too close to it. The blast knocked him off his feet, and he felt something sharp rip through his back as he hit the ground. The force was enough that he flew forward a way from where he had been initially standing, his head cracking against the hard ground. He lay there for a moment, knocked off his feet, dazed by what happened.

His head hurt, a sharp pain above his eye that seemed to feel like someone was stabbing him, where he had connected with the ground. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He stayed where he was, laying there on the ground, unable to move.

He was on his stomach, the wind having been knocked from his lungs. His hands were stretched out in front of him, as if to break his fall, though it hadn't done much good. There was a pain in his wrist and the palms of his hands felt seared from the impact. In his mouth, he could taste the dirt he had somehow managed to swallow when he had fallen, gritty and dry.

Vaguely, he could remember it wasn't supposed to go like this. There was something he had to do first. But now Tim couldn't recall what that was. His mind was fuzzy, not allowing room for any thoughts to enter. All he knew was that this wasn't supposed to be happening.

He thought he heard yelling but he couldn't tell for sure. His ears were ringing from the noise of the explosion (he wondered if there was blood seeping out of them) and his back was now on fire. Something sticky was dripping along his skin but he couldn't quite grasp what the hell it might be. The entire world was spinning, causing him to feel sick and he couldn't make out what was coming towards him.

Two hands seemed to lift him from the ground, but Tim couldn't stand on his own. He couldn't even really keep himself upright with the assistance of whoever, whatever it was that had pulled him to his feet. A dead weigh was what he felt like, completely unable to move.

The persistent yelling was in his ear now but he couldn't make out what the fuck was being said. His vision was growing blurrier and black spots began appearing. Tim panicked, wondering if maybe he was dying, and thoughts of Darcy flooded his mind. She'd receive one of those letters all military girlfriends got, cold and impersonal. He'd never be able to go home and see her, to hold her or kiss her. Hell, he'd never even be able to tell her that he loved her. He was dying and he was leaving her behind. He swayed, unable to keep himself upright, even though someone was holding him up, before he blacked out completely.

When he woke, he was in a hospital bed. The fluorescent lights hurt his eyes, despite the fact he was lying on his stomach and wasn't staring directly at them, and he automatically closed them again. Slowly, he reopened them after a moment, a little bit at a time.

Doug was asleep in the hard plastic chair beside his bed, making Tim wonder just how long he'd been here. Every part of him hurt like a son of a bitch and he wasn't too sure he'd be able to move yet. He couldn't remember what exactly happened but he did remember the building blowing up in his fucking face. After that, everything seemed to be a blur.

He felt like he was wading through mud, unable to make his mind move any faster than what it was. All he could focus on was what was in front of him, the morphine numbing his body, and slowing his reactions.

An IV drip was attached to his hand and Tim grimaced slightly. He fucking hated needles. In agonising pain, he slowly moved his free hand (which he failed to noticed was encased in a cast) towards the one with the drip in it, having every intention of ripping it out. But he never got that far, feeling stitches in his back pulling as he moved.

Defeated, he tried his best to remember what had happened to him. At first, there was nothing but a blank space in his mind, no memories of the event that had caused him to wind up in some hospital bed with extensive injuries. Despite that, something niggled at the back of his mind, something important. He just couldn't grasp a hold of it.

Pain in his head flared up and he felt his eyes burning. With a groan of frustration, he buried his face back into his pillow, trying to shut out the lights in hopes it would stop. Eventually, he felt it disappear, causing him to breathe a little easier.

The thought struck him then. Home. He was supposed to be going home. But now he wasn't sure. They'd either keep him here for a while longer, or they'd send him back to a Stateside hospital. It didn't matter either way. He wouldn't be going home just yet. He couldn't go home to her.

He had a moment of panic then, at the thought of Darcy. He wasn't sure if she'd been told what had happened to him or not. Struggling, he did his best to force himself into a sitting position, only for his vision to swarm when he did, the pain nearly causing him to black out once more. One of the nurses had seen what he was trying to do, and hurried over to stop him. Not that she needed to, for he had already sunk back down onto the bed.

Tim closed his eyes again, his exhaustion taking over. Through the fogginess he felt, he could still feel his worry for Darcy. But as the inky black EDS rose up to claim him again, the worry was pushed from his mind, unable to focus on it. But her face was the only thing he could see, even behind his closed eyes.

The letter he sent her with the details of him coming home was the last one she ever received from him. Time went by with no word from the Ranger. She knew it could have happened, that on his line of work, no one was truly safe. It didn't matter if you had just arrived, had been there for as long as you could remember, or were preparing to leave. Soldiers died in combat and Darcy King knew that.

When the letters and the calls stopped, she feared the worst. And when the weeks turned into months, she knew she had lost the man she loved. She mourned him, the sharp pain burning her chest every time she thought of the blue eyed soldier. To think his name became an agony for her. One she thought would never go away.

She made herself leave the house every day to go to work like she normally would. She forced that smile onto her face, never letting the tears shine through. She did her best to live her life like she had before he'd come along and turned things upside down on her. But no matter how hard she tried to forget him, she knew that would never be possible. He had changed her life and now she'd never be able to tell him just what he meant to her.

After three months, she told herself she had to move on, that to live like this for the rest of her life wasn't healthy. And so she did, slowly but surely, piecing back together the pieces of her heart that had shattered. Without help, she picked herself up off the floor and soon that forced smile finally started to show something more genuine.

Sometimes she cried at night, when the world was dark and she was there all alone. When things got too much for her to handle. But she pulled herself together again when she thought of what he'd say if he saw her like this. Though Darcy wouldn't admit it, it was the memory of Tim that got her through her darkest moments.

She never heard from him again, until six months after his disappearance, when he showed up on her front door step.


	14. Chapter 14

Tim had no idea what the fuck he was doing. In the beginning, it had seemed like a good idea, but now, standing here faced with the closed door, he wasn't sure what he had been thinking. He couldn't recall a time when he'd ever been so nervous. Not over in Afghanistan when he'd still been in the army facing an unseen enemy. But right now, he was fucking terrified for the first time in his life.

Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Which was why he had kept putting it off each time the subject came to mind. Part of him would have preferred to run into oncoming fire. At least with that he would have known what to expect.

He'd been back for six months, though he didn't have the courage to see her just once. The first few months he'd spent trying to recover from the injury he'd ended up with when the building blew up. Eventually, that became an excuse he could no longer use. Instead, his excuse became that she deserved better. Since his return, he had ended up with PTSD, making sleeping impossible, and functioning on a normally level difficult.

Afghanistan had fucked with his brain on a level that most people couldn't begin to understand. After being over there for so long… people did change. They became someone else… something else. A harder person than what they had been before they left. He kept telling himself that Darcy didn't need to have to put up with him waking up screaming in the middle of the night. She didn't need to watch him with one of his episodes.

But Tim knew all of that was still simply just an excuse. Truth was, Darcy would have made his return a lot easier. He was simply just afraid that he'd fuck up the only woman he loved. So he'd made the decision to get himself back together before he came to see her.

And now here he was, standing on her porch, half hesitating to knock on her door. He didn't know what her reaction would be like, considering he had just vanished without even saying goodbye. Hell, he'd understand if she told him to go get fucked.

Deciding he couldn't put it off any longer, he raised his hand and knocked. His boots scuffed lightly against the timber as he waited for her to answer. Time flickered past slowly, and he raised his hand to knock once more before he heard the creak of the door opening.

The moment she came into sight, Tim forgot how to breathe. She was beautiful, the photos she had sent him not doing her justice. He hadn't realised how tall she was, but he thought it suited her. She seemed to be staring at him, frozen to her spot. His hand dropped back down to his side, realising he was still holding it up, flashing a crooked smile in her direction.

""Are you going to invite me in or are you just going to make me stand out here all day?" he asked, watching as she snapped out of her trance. She then proceeded throw her arms around him, catching him off guard, before she finally invited him inside.

"So what happened to you?" she asked him, staring at the soldier across the table, a look of hurt in her brown eyes. Guilt welled up inside of him and the pendant in his pocket burned as a constant reminder of what he had done. "You just disappeared on me Tim."

This was the part he had been dreading the most when he made the decision to finally see her. Trying to explain wasn't something he was looking forward to. But after the shit he pulled, he figured he owed her that much. He just wasn't sure how the fuck he was supposed to explain it.

"I always told them you deserved someone better than me," he began, watching as her eyes narrowed at him, clearly not believing a word of what he was saying. "On that last patrol, a fucking building blew up on me. I spent three months in a hospital, which still isn't any excuse for not writing. After that, I don't know. I guess I couldn't face you. Not the way I was. Fuck, I spend more time having goddamn fucking episodes. I dragged you through enough shit when I was over there. Thought it would be best I didn't drag you through any more."

"That's your explanation?" she asked, incredulous and slightly angry. "Are you fucking kidding me? Tim, what you went through, you didn't have to face it alone. For fuck's sake, you didn't drag me through anything that I didn't want to go through. I was there with you because I wanted to be. Because I love you, fuck you. I spent the last six months thinking I'd lost you, that you had fucking died over there. Do you have any idea what that feels like, not knowing?"

Her tirade effectively shut him up from what he was about to say. He stared at her, pretty sure his mouth was hanging open as she spoke those words. Her cheeks were flushed, in what he was convinced was

anger, but he couldn't bring himself to move past what she had said, knowing he had really fucked up this time.

She loved him. All this time and neither of them had said a damn thing about it. That wasn't entirely true. She had told him, when she thought he wasn't listening, but she had still told him. Not just with her words, but her actions. She stuck by him through all the shot because she loved him. Just like he'd been told. Only he'd never thought she could love someone like him. Someone who wasn't quite perfect, who was a little more than a bit broken.

"Darcy…" he started, then stopped as he realised he had no idea what he was saying. His mind was a jumbled mess, trying to sort through everything she had just told him. He didn't have the right words for her, he never did. She gave him a soft smile, telling him she understood.

She reached out towards him then, her fingers gently brushing against the back of his hand, and Tim felt his entire world come to a halt. His eyes locked onto hers, to find she was already staring at him, that smile still on her face. Forgiveness, he realised with a sudden jolt. After everything he'd put her through, she still somehow managed to fucking forgive him.

"I know," she told him softly, her fingers running along the back of his hand. "I think I've always known. You may not have said it, Tim, but you showed me, more often than not. You trusted me with things that you had gone through over there, you let me into your life when most people couldn't get past your walls. You might not have understood, but I did. I guess that's why it hurt so much when I thought you were gone."

That haunted look was back in her eyes, and Tim felt his heart wrenching, knowing he was the cause of it. When he had needed her, she'd always been there for him. But he hadn't been there for her. All because the very thought of it all scared the living shit out of him.

"I think I did know Darcy," he told her quietly. "It took me a while and it took someone else to point it out to me in the beginning. But I knew I loved you. It was hard not to when you were one of the few people who actually accepted me for who I was. Shit, you were the reason I didn't lose my fucking mind over there."

He withdrew one hand from hers then, reaching into his shirt pocket, and pulled something out. Reaching back across the table, he took Darcy's free hand, dropping the pendant onto her palm. A look of surprise crossed over her face as she stared down at the pendant he had given her, before her eyes flicked back up to meet his.

"I've been meaning to give you that for a while now," he admitted to her with a rueful grin, figuring he probably should have sent it in the mail. "I got it for you back over in Afghanistan. I just never sent it. It was something I wanted to give you in person. Though I never really got around to it before now."

Her chair skidded back as she found herself on her feet, sidestepping around the table as she pulled him up as well. Her arms went around his neck, and Tim found this time he wasn't as shocked. Instead, he felt his own arms wrap around her slender waist as she hugged him. She was soft to the touch, and fit as if she had been made just for him. And when she pulled back just slightly so that she could look at him with those brown doe eyes, Tim couldn't stop himself.

He closed the small space between them, his lips brushing lightly against hers at first. He felt her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him as close as she possible could, and his tongue darted out, running against her bottom lip. A low whimper escaped from the back of her throat as her mouth parted and his tongue was inside her mouth, tasting, teasing, entwining with hers.

Craving flooded through him instantly, burning like fire through his veins, making though near impossible. His own hands had gripped her by the waist, his fingers digging against her soft skin harder than he had intended, though she didn't once protest.

He caught her as her legs gave out, her back arched under the touch of his hands, before he lifted her up and set her down on the table. He felt her legs part slightly, and he stepped between them, pulling her hips forward against his as he kissed her, deep, slow and hot. His free hand moved up along her body, enticing a moan from the brunette.

Her legs wrapped around him, pressing herself closer to the sniper, causing him to harden further than he already had. He felt his insides melt the moment her hands found their way under his shirt, running up along his back, nails lightly dragging across his skin.

For once, he forgot about the scars he carried, everything slipping away at the touch of her hands. His mouth moved down along her neck, teasing as he left behind marks on her skin, his teeth grazing the top of her breast, hearing as her breath caught in her throat.

He wanted her, all of her. He wanted to taste her, to see her writhing under him in pleasure, to hear her screaming his name. But he hadn't come here for that. And it was with considerable reluctance that he pulled away from Darcy.

As he pulled away, he couldn't stop from noticing how beautiful she really was. Her lips were swollen, eyes half closed, her hair tangled from where his hands had been. He nearly lost every ounce of control he had but managed to pull himself to a halt in time.

And as her eyes opened in confusion when his hands left her, Tim shook his head slightly, letting her know that she had done nothing wrong. How could she when everything about her was fucking perfect to him.

"Sorry," he told her. "I didn't mean…. I want to do this properly Darcy. After the shit I pulled, you deserve that much. Not just a quick roll around in the sheets. You mean more to me than that. I'm going to do this the way I was supposed to in the first fucking place."

A smile had appeared on her face at his words and when he had finished, she was laughing, crystal bell like peals of laughter. He hadn't been sure what he had said that was so funny, but when she slipped off the table, and brushed her lips against her ear, whispering that she already knew that, he finally understood. His mouth found hers again, as demanding as before, and she met him with equal fervour. They never made it to the bedroom.


	15. Chapter 15

Her back was pressed against the couch as she wriggled over onto her side, Tim's body flush against hers. Her brown eyes watched him for a moment, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. He seemed to sense her staring because his own eyes opened (they were such a pretty blue, she thought absentmindedly) and his gaze wandered over her, causing a shiver of delight to run up along her spine as he gave her a lazy smirk in return.

"Normally you'd have to buy me dinner first," he told her with his smirk still in place, a teasing glint in those blue eyes, causing Darcy to shake her head in amusement, trying not to laugh. His long fingers ran gently along her bare skin as he spoke, and she let herself get lost in the sensation of his touch once again. "I don't usually take my clothes off until the second date."

"And here I was thinking our second date was you wearing that gorgeous pink scarf I sent," she teased back, watching as Tim pulled out a grimace at the mention of it, though he'd told her once before in one of his letters he actually wore it when the weather was cold over there. "And don't bother denying that you like it. I've got several photos as proof of you wearing it."

She still had a hard time believing he was actually here. Part of her mind still referred to him as being in Afghanistan, despite the fact she had him here right beside her. She supposed it was only normal, considering the entire time she had known him, he had been over there in that version of hell. If she found it hard then she couldn't begin to imagine how hard it was for Tim to try and adjust to something like that.

She could remember feeling the scars on his back, remembering what he had told her about that last patrol. And while the physical wound had long since closed over, she wasn't sure the mental and emotional ones had. It would take time for them to settle, though she wasn't sure something like that would ever truly heal. And while she couldn't take those memories away, to shield him from what he had gone through, she just wished she had some way to make things more bearable for him.

It had often been said that war was hell, but now Darcy wasn't so sure. Hell was one thing, where those who had no chance of redemption went. War was something completely different. War was blood, gore and death. It was a place where innocent people had been sent to die when the innocent would have never gone to hell. No, she realised, war and hell were two very different things. And Tim had been through the worst of the two.

Despite what he had told her through the letters he had sent, Darcy knew she couldn't understand the full extent of what he had been through over there. She couldn't understand the crippling fear he may have felt, knowing that each step could mean your last on two legs. Or last step in general. She had witnessed it in a secondary manner, not first hand. She hadn't been there and watched friends die. But she found it hurt to think that Tim had.

Unconsciously, she had moved herself closer to the sniper, at least as close as she could possibly get considering she was already pressed up against him, as if worried he would disappear on her. She hadn't realised he'd noticed her do so, missing the way his arms tightened around her body, refusing to let her go, until he spoke up.

"I thought I was the only one who got those silent spells," he said quietly, causing her to look at him, startled by his had cut into her thoughts like a knife, bringing her back into reality. "I guess I keep forgetting that you went through as much shit as I did during that time. Shit you really didn't have to go through."

Darcy half shrugged at his words. Half the time she wasn't even aware that she had blanked out, though Tim hadn't been the first person to notice. More often than not, she was able to brush it off, claim she was fine, that something else had caught her attention. But not with him. He knew her too well, had seen too much, for her to easily dismiss it as nothing.

"Maybe I didn't have to, but I wanted to," she told him, touching his cheek lightly with the tips of her fingers, wanting him to understand that it hadn't been out of obligation. "Because you didn't need to be alone. I get that you had all your soldier friends over there, but sometimes, there's only so much they can do. They have their own shit to deal with. I never regretted it once Tim. I doubt I ever will. We were friends and a decent friend wouldn't let you go through something like that alone."

She meant it, every word of it. While it hadn't been easy, if she was given the chance to do it all over again, Darcy wouldn't change a thing. Because it had been worth it, all of it. Being given the chance to meet him had been worth it. He had become an important part of her life, someone she couldn't imagine not knowing. No, she thought to herself, there was nothing about it that she would change.

With Darcy at work, Tim decided to make himself useful. Housework wasn't exactly his strong point (half the time his bunk had looked like the war had been through it and the only reason anything got done about it was because Connor ended up getting pissed off with tripping over things), but that was exactly what he found himself doing.

It took him half an hour to work out how the dishwasher worked, and another ten minutes with the vacuum cleaner, but eventually he figured it out. A faint grin appeared on his face as he thought of what Darcy would say if she could see him now. It wasn't as if he didn't know the basics (his ma and the army had both taught him how to clean, to make his own bed, to cook, though he actually liked cooking, which was probably why his friends had always designated that job to him), it was just that he preferred not to.

The one thing he had paid particular attention to, however, was his rifles. Even if nothing else got done, Tim never once skipped out on cleaning them. It wasn't just because they were necessary for his own survival, but because he genuinely enjoyed the task.

With the trash in his hand, he stepped out onto the porch, the door swinging closed behind him. He was halfway back up the path from dumping the bag in the bin when he heard a voice call out from the house next door. The sniper turned, catching sight of a man standing on the other side of the fence.

He was rather nondescript looking, and it took Tim a moment to make the connection to who he was. But once he did, the former Ranger found himself cursing under his breath, realising that was quite possibly the last person he wanted to be talking to. Or even listening to, for that matter.

"Hey man, hold up a moment," Nick (at least that was who Tim thought it was, going by what Darcy had told him about the asshole) called out to him, jogging over towards the sniper. He slowed as he got closer, apparently with no idea of who Tim was. "Look, if you're looking for Darcy, she ain't home right now. Besides, you're kind of trespassing. As her neighbour, I keep an eye out for her."

Tim was beginning to understand why she'd punched this guy. He would have probably done the same thing, with the slight difference of him having a body to bury. Self-important, egotistical fuck, he thought. The son of a bitch wouldn't have even lasted a minute in Afghanistan. Fuck, he was pretty sure the bastard wouldn't have even made it through boot camp. Yet here he was, trying, and failing, to seem tougher than he looked.

He kind of reminder Tim of one of those small, furball dogs that barked at anything bigger than them. The ones that were always trying to over compensate for their lack of size. The analogy almost caused the soldier to snort but he kept his amusement to himself. Nick would have kept on talking, but Tim cut him off before he could ramble on any more bullshit.

"You the jackass whose face Darcy split her hand on?" he asked, his voice low, watching as the other guy's face paled slightly. He wondered if the asshat had finally realised who he was. He'd play nice, for now, mostly because he didn't need to be arrested for public disturbance or to do something that would piss off Darcy.

"You're Gutterson," Nick said, sounding more like a statement than a question, involuntary taking a step back, making him wonder what the fuck she'd said about him to provoke that reaction. Not that he cared, of course. It was probably better he wasn't standing too close. "Darcy's soldier friend."

"Congratulations, you got it right," he deadpanned, his voice coloured with his usual sarcasm. He watched as Nick's face changed from pale to red within a matter of moments. "Which I suppose makes you Nick the asshole. Now is there anything else I can help you with, or are you going to fuck off and let me get back to what I was doing? Because I really don't feel like wasting any more of my fucking time talking to you." 

He would have walked off then, let the matter rest, mostly because he had no further interest in it, but apparently Nick just couldn't help himself. He'd met people like him before, not just in civilian life, but the higher brass of the military. People who thought that they were simply better than anyone else around them. There had been nothing he could do about during his time as a soldier though, save for gritting his teeth and muttering 'yes sir' whenever they said shit.

"You think you deserve her?" the other man asked then, causing a scowl to form across Tim's face then. He knew perfectly damn well he didn't deserve someone like Darcy, but for the love of fuck, that didn't mean she didn't want him. "What's she going to do with some soldier boy when she could have someone like me? Someone who has a stable job, and a stable life. Then again, maybe she's just a whore."

Other soldiers always said it was a dangerous pastime to fuck with an Army Ranger. Though it seemed that message obviously hadn't been shared with everyone. It took him a mere matter of seconds to drop the man. Nick hit the ground hard, laying there on his back momentarily dazed and winded.

"Say what the fuck you want about me, but if you ever drag Darcy into it again, I'll make sure you regret it," Tim told him pleasantly, baring his teeth in a threatening sort of smile. "And believe me when I say that compared to the fuckers I dealt with in Afghanistan, it won't take much to make your bitch ass squirm. Do we understand each other?"

He left it at that, watching as any anger drained out of the man quickly, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head at the thought of what might happen to him. Satisfied he'd gotten the message across, the sniper turned then, and simply walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

The episode came from out of nowhere. One minute he'd been in the shop with Darcy, the next he was back over there. He was surrounded by desert and the rugged mountains, the perfect ambush spot, and bullets hailed down on him.

It was just him out there under fire. He couldn't find Doug, or Connor, nor anyone else from his platoon and he found himself wondering if they had already been hit and he couldn't see them amid the dust that had been kicked up by the bullets. The ground rushed up to meet him as he dove into the dirt, scrambling to take cover behind the scattered rocks. He heard at least one bullet ricochet off the rock in front of him and he pulled his head down further.

His breathing was ragged from his sprint from across the ground, his ribs pressed uncomfortably against the rock in front of him. Bullets continued to fire in his direction, and it took him a moment to pinpoint exactly where they were coming from.

Unslinging his own rifle, which had slammed painfully into his hip in his mad dash, he straightened the legs of the bipod, settling himself onto his stomach as he set himself up. The butt of the rifle rested comfortably against his shoulder as he closed one eye, peering through the high powered scope with the other, desperate to find a target.

Movement caught his attention, and he fixed his sights on it, gently squeezing the trigger the moment he found his target. The rifle cracked, sharp and distinct, its recoil kicking back against his shoulder. He saw the man drop and cease to move. He felt nothing, he never did when he took the shot.

The next bullet grazed the side of his head, stinging as it did so. Swearing, Tim dropped completely flat again, blood trickling down the side of his face. He could feel it dripping into his eye, and his hand came up quickly, trying to stem the flow.

His heart pounding in his chest, he wildly searched for a medic, but finding no one at all. No one but him and the enemy out there with loaded weapons, just waiting for a chance to kill him. When he dropped his hand from the wound, he noticed that it came away sticky and red.

Fighting down the rising panic, knowing he'd be no use if he let it sink its hooks into him, he refocused his scope. His trained eye slowly surveyed the land, searching for something, anything. He could still feel the blood, but knew it wasn't severe. Head wounds tended to bleed more than any other.

In the distance, he thought he could hear someone yelling his name, coming from out of dust. He couldn't make out the voice though, didn't know for certain who it belonged to. It didn't matter. The sniper knew that he couldn't get out there, not without getting shot himself, and all he could do was cover the other soldier and hope that they had enough sense to lie still.

Something moving caught his eye, and his attention snapped back towards it. Another bullet whizzed by him, but he didn't flinch this time. He had found his control point and he could feel nothing but calm now. The yelling had quietened to a whisper, yet he could still hear it over the gunfire.

The voice gradually came into focus, and with a jolt that felt as if someone had injected ice water into his veins, he recognised it. And as that voice continued to call his name, softly, like one would speak to a wild animal, he felt the episode fade into the back of his mind.

He found himself sitting on the floor of the aisle, his heart pounding so rapidly he thought it would beat right out of his chest, with his legs dragged up into some form of defensive position. Darcy was crouching in front of him, close, but not close enough to touch, crooning his name gently.

He was shaking, he realised suddenly, the thought seeming sluggish in his mind. His eyes flickered back up from his trembling hands, onto Darcy's face, noticing she hadn't moved. He wondered if she was afraid of him, of what he might do when he wasn't in control. He wouldn't have blamed her if she was.

"It's okay, you're okay," he could hear her murmur. She was watching him, concern for him in those brown eyes, but no pity. He was relieved at that, that she didn't think he was a complete fuck up who needed her pity. "You're going to be okay Tim."

He tumbled forward then, colliding straight into her. Her arms didn't wrap around him when he buried his face against her neck, holding her tight, but she continued to whisper to him, one hand gently running through his hair. He couldn't seem to piece his thoughts together, flashes of the battlefield still echoing through his mind.

"It's over, you're safe. There's nobody here who's going to hurt you," she told him, and he felt the sick feeling in his stomach reside slightly as he slowly came to an understanding that he wasn't over there, that it had been just another one of his episodes.

As the tension in his body eased from him, it was only then that he felt Darcy's arms wrap around his body. It was only then he realised that she hadn't been afraid of him like he had thought. She had been wary, not wanting to make the wrong move and startle him, but not afraid.

He could smell gunpowder and dust lingering in the air, and the beginnings of fear started to creep forward but he fought it down. It wasn't real, none of it was real. He wasn't over there. Trying to steady himself, he inhaled her scent, the smell of vanilla and honey washing over him, bringing him further back into the present.

"I told you I was fucking cracked," he mumbled, his voice muffled by her skin, attempting a weak joke, to make it seem as if it wasn't as bad as it really was. But he could barely convince himself, let alone Darcy with his poor attempts of dark humour.

"You're perfect Tim. We're all a little broken, and we all have our flaws, but in the end, that's what makes us perfect," she whispered back, her arms wrapped around him as she simply just held him close.

She didn't know what exactly had happened. Tim had been fine, a little snarky and pissy about having to go shopping, but otherwise fine, as fine as she had ever seen him act. And then he wasn't. It happened within a matter of minutes. His features had dissolved into a twisted mask of terror, and he had sunk to the ground, as if he no longer had any control over himself.

He had told her about his episodes, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for how quickly it came on. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen them before; her uncle used to have them every time a chopper flew by or something triggered his memory of Vietnam, but it had still caught her off guard.

Her first instinct had been to shake him back into reality but restrained herself with great difficulty. That would serve do nothing but make the situation worse. Instead, Darcy found herself crouched down in front of him, keeping enough of a distance between them in case of the fact he didn't recognise her when he snapped out of it.

She had managed to remove everyone else from the aisle, not needing curious eyes watching on like Tim was some form of freak. And she knew space would be imperative when he came back around. She wasn't sure if silence was good, but noise couldn't have been any better.

It was in this particular moments that she wished she had paid more attention to how her aunt had dealt with her uncle when he relapsed like this. But she hadn't, and now she was regretting it. The only thing she could do was try and hope she didn't fuck this up somehow.

"Tim?" she called to him softly, trying to draw him back into reality with no real idea of what she was doing. She felt hopelessly inadequate for the task, that anyone would have been better suited to it. But there was no one else, at least no one she trusted, leaving her with no choice. "Tim, I want you to listen to me."

She didn't know if he could hear her or not, didn't know how far he was lost in his mind. But she had to give it a try. To reach him before the episode did too much damage. He didn't react at all, didn't even bat an eyelid, as if he couldn't hear her. And maybe he couldn't.

"Tim?" she tried again, deliberately keeping her voice soft. When that yielded nothing, she decided to try a different approach. "Sergeant Gutterson, if you can hear me, I need you to come back to me. You're not over there anymore."

There was a small flicker of recognition then, and painfully slowly, she watched as he came back. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes held a wild look in them, as if expecting the worst to happen at any moment. She stayed where she was, though her gaze never left his face for a minute.

He wore a lost expression, and the sight of it broke her heart. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but she wasn't sure if that was such a good idea just yet. She had to be sure he was truly back, not half caught in a memory. That was one thing she did remember. To never startle someone who had just returned from their own version of hell.

"It's okay, you're okay," she told him softly, watching as his eyes slid onto her face, staring back at her with a look of hurt and confusion. She had never tried to talk anyone off a ledge before, be it real or metaphorical, and she had no idea if what she was doing was right.

As he fell against her, she almost tipped backwards under the impact, having not been waiting for him to do something like that, but steadied herself before she did. His arms had snaked around her, as if somehow she could chase away the remnants of his episode.

One hand carefully moved to run through his hair, and she felt, more than saw, him ease into her touch. He still hadn't said a word, but she didn't expect he would, not for a while anyway. All she could do was continue to speak to him, hoping that he'd be okay.

"It's over, you're safe. There's nobody here who's going to hurt you," she repeated, over and over again. Gently, hesitantly, she finally wrapped her own arms around him, bringing him into her embrace. By then, he had calmed further, despite the small, barely noticeable trembles running through his body.

""I told you I was fucking cracked," he finally muttered against her neck. It had been made as a joke, but Darcy could tell he truly thought that. And she couldn't disagree more. It was true he had been through so much, had seen things no one should see, but she didn't believe for a second that made him anything less.

People were flawed, that was a common known fact. No one was truly perfect, without some form of demon haunting them. But that didn't mean there was anything wrong with them. To Darcy, that made them a survivor, someone who had gone through the worst they could face, and came out the other side. Slightly battered and scarred, but definitely not broken.

"You're perfect Tim. We're all a little broken, and we all have our flaws, but in the end, that's what makes us perfect," she told him, wanting him to understand that. That he wasn't broken or damaged beyond repair. That he was human and that it was okay to be vulnerable at times.


	17. Chapter 17

She found him outside on the porch swing, a glowing cigarette in his hand as he watched the setting sun. He heard the porch creak under her weight and had glanced up, not seeming very surprised to see her standing there. Wordlessly, Tim patted the empty space on the chair beside him, indicating for her to join him.

The brunette made her way across the porch and settled herself into the chair beside him, leaning back against the chair. The smell of smoke was prevalent in the air but Darcy barely even noticed it. She wasn't expecting Tim to drape an arm around her shoulder and pull her against his side, his lips touching her temple as he absentmindedly stubbed out the cigarette. But he did so anyway, and she had no hesitation with melting into his touch.

His hand ran down her leg, long fingers hooking beneath it and pulling it across him so that she found herself straddling the sniper. An amused look flitted across her features, her arms looping around his neck, shifting so that she was more comfortable, before dipping her head to catch his mouth with hers, tasting the smoke and whiskey.

His tongue slipped into her mouth without warning, and her nails dug into his back at the sudden intrusion. Warm hands soon slipped under her shirt, rough fingers on smooth skin. His hands crept up along her body slowly, as if to savour every inch of her, and she felt her breathing hitch in her throat as his hands came to her breasts, sending a ripple of pleasure running through her body that made her cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world.

She could feel him now, pressed hard against her inner thigh. Her hand dropped from around his neck, the tips of her fingers stroking him through the fabric of his jeans. She felt his hips buck slightly, and a low moan escape his throat.

His mouth moved from hers, down along her neck, biting, sucking at the soft skin, until she lost her breathe and turned to jelly inside. A soft moan escaped the brunette's lips as his teeth grazed lightly across the soft skin of her neck. Every inch of him yearned for her in that moment, desire burning deep within the soldier.

Cold air hit her as he hitched her skirt up, his thumb stroking her then, teasing, as his mouth found the top of her breasts. Whimpers slipped from her as she desperately tried to get him to stop his teasing, feeling him through the lackey material, and desperate wanting his touch on her.

She found herself fumbling with his belt, but lost her concentration the moment he hooked his fingers around her lace underwear, sliding them down around her legs and his fingers slipped into her. Her back arched at his sudden contact, moving in rhythm with his fingers, her breath coming short and fast, feeling herself spiralling out of control.

The high hit her a few moments later, coiling through her body as waves of heat rippled through her, Tim's name on her lips as her release came, his thumb stroking her a few more times before he removed his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste her, his eyes locked on hers.

She slid from his lap, perching herself on her knees between his legs, kicking her panties of completely. The belt buckle had finally come loose, and her hand sort him out from his jeans, running along his length. He stiffened the moment her hand closed around, his eyes half shut in his state of delirium, his hands twisting in her hair.

Her tongue swirled over the tip of him and she felt his hand tighten his grip on her hair, as her tongue rubbed with pressure on the sensitive underside just beneath the rim of his crest. Once satisfied she had tormented him enough, she took him into the back of her throat, and heard him curse as his hips jerked forward. Her teeth raked gently up along him as she moved, her turn to tease him.

She felt him harden with every passing moment, and he hit his own peak, his warm release filling her mouth. She pulled back, licking the tip of him one final time, a satisfied smirk on her face. Tim wore a dazed look, similar to the one she had one before.

"Fuck Darcy," he mumbled, as she rose from her knees and settled herself back onto the porch swing beside him, his gaze following her every movement. She leaned over, her lips brushing against his ear.

"Care to join me in the shower, soldier?" she whispered. Tim didn't give her an answer. He was on his feet within a matter of moments, tossing the brunette over his shoulder, before he headed back inside.

She wore one of his shirts, her legs bare and her hair slightly damp from the shower, seated on a chair in the kitchen. Tim still struggled to believe that he had someone as perfect as Darcy King. When they made love (he couldn't really call it fucking with her) she never once shied away from his scars, making sure she kissed each and every one of them.

But despite having someone like her, someone who understood and accepted him, Tim still found himself struggling with civilian life. It was difficult for the sniper to adjust, when he kept expecting to see the enemy behind every corner.

That day in the store had proven that to him. And while the episodes weren't as bad as in the six months when he had first returned, he still couldn't shake them fully. Sometimes the smallest things set him off and pushed him straight over the edge.

Darcy was the one thing that kept him sane. She took his mind off it when she could, and was there for him when she couldn't. She never pushed him when he didn't want to talk, knowing that eventually he would open up to her.

She was everything he could ask for and yet Tim still felt as if he didn't belong here, ruining her life. Because of that, and because he just couldn't get used to being back, he had signed up for another tour back over there in Afghanistan. He hadn't told her, and that was why he had been out there on the front porch, trying to work out the best way to tell her.

Now he wasn't so sure he could. He knew she'd accept his decision, there wasn't a doubt about that. But that didn't mean his choice wouldn't hurt her. And he didn't want to see that betrayal reflecting in those brown doe eyes of hers.

With a sigh, the sniper pushed it from his mind, moving over towards where the brunette was sitting. She gave him a grin when he reached her, oblivious to the thoughts running through his mind, still euphoric from earlier. His own mind lingered on that for a moment, and he couldn't help but return her contagious smile.

"Nice shirt," he told her, his grin still in place, doing what he could do ignore the guilt that was currently weighing him down. It wasn't easy, but he did the best that he could. "It would look better on the floor though."

"You're insatiable," she replied in amusement, though she let herself be pulled into his kiss. Her legs wrapped around him as he lifted her off the chair, never once breaking the kiss. And she didn't refuse when he carried her back to the bedroom.

Tim stared down at Darcy's sleeping figure, tangled up in the bed sheets. There was a lump in his throat, but he knew what he was doing was best for the both of them, even if it was going to kill him. And he was half convinced it was. His bags were packed, resting beside the bedroom door, all ready for him to go. And for a moment, he hesitated. Hesitated because he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. Hesitated because the possible what ifs flooded his mind.

Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to her temple, feeling her stir but not wake. Tim's vision blurred, and he wasn't surprised to find a stray tear rolling down the side of his face. He had known that saying goodbye to her would be hard. He just didn't realise how hard.

It would have been worse for them both if he had waited for her to wake up. And call him selfish, but he didn't think he could do that. To face her tears would probably make him change his mind and stay. And that wasn't simply an option for him.

While the war had been hard, it was something that he had grown used to. And while there were nightmares over there, they were nothing compared to the ones he faced here, out of the danger. He couldn't remember how many times he had woken Darcy with his screaming, though she never complained once.

She had loved him, just like he loved her. He would have given up everything he had for a chance with her. And it was for that very reason that Tim was leaving, letting her live the life she could within him weighing her down. Without his nightmares haunting them both.

Before he left, he reached into the pocket of his shirt, withdrawing the letter he had written and placing it beside her bed. Then, telling himself not to look back, he headed for the door, picking up his bags. Her scent still lingered on him, on his clothes, and the memory of the night was forever burned into his mind.

At the front door, he paused again, and despite what he had told himself, Tim Gutterson found himself looking back. Back towards bedroom where the woman he had loved more than anything was sleeping and the life he could have had with her.

Taking a deep breath, Tim turned the knob of the door and stepped out, the sound of it closing behind him sounding final. This time, he didn't look back.


	18. Epilogue

The other side of the bed was cold and empty when she woke, stretching out leisurely across the bed. At first, she thought that Tim had gone for his normal morning run, something that was a tradition for him. One that she hadn't been too keen on taking up. He had laughed, and simply kissed her on the forehead, telling her that was fine.

That was what she believed until she found the letter left on her bedside table and she feared the worst. Her fingers were shaking as she opened the folded letter, Tim's familiar hand writing coming into view and she felt her heart give an all too familiar tug as she stared reading the words.

 _Dearest Darcy,_

 _I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I didn't think I'd be able to do it in person. It was hard enough to with you this. But you deserve that much, and more. I just couldn't do it. I want you to know this has nothing to do with you. I couldn't adjust to being out of the army, to trying to live a normal life. Maybe you didn't see it, not all of it anyway, but every moment I spent waiting for ambushes and the sort. Waiting to see if the next step would be my last._

 _I love you Darcy King, I always will love you and I want you to know that. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I couldn't be more grateful for the time we got to spend together. I never thought I'd met anyone like you, a real life angel, but I don't regret it. Maybe if we had met under different circumstances, things might have gone differently._

 _This wasn't an easy choice to make Darcy. Not by a long shot. And I hope that one day you'll be able to forgive me for what I've done..._

Her eyes blurred then, the tears falling without her permission, and the brunette found she couldn't read any further. He was gone, this time for good. And for the first time, Darcy found herself angry at him. Angry because he couldn't tell her that he was leaving, that he had been cowardly enough to leave it written on paper.

That he hadn't be able to say goodbye to her without hiding behind a piece of paper. And at the moment that thought came to her mind, she knew that was why she was really angry at him. It wasn't because he had gone back. It was because he hadn't had the decency to tell her goodbye properly.

Her tears stained the paper she held in her hands, but she couldn't seem to stop them. She had broken up with people before, but never before had it hurt like this did. Never before had it cut so deep and torn her soul and heart apart. Because that's what happened when you loved someone, she realised.

When it was over, it hurt, so fucking much because they took a piece of your heart with them. The piece that had been given to them, because you thought you had forever with them. But forever didn't always work out the way it was supposed to. Sometimes that forever came to an end.

She thought it hurt the last time, when she thought he was dead and hadn't heard a word from him for that six months. It had, of course, but this was worse. Because she had known him, every part of him. Had held him in her arms when things got to be too much. She had loved him more than she thought was even possible.

And now it was all over, thrown away like dust into the wind. But despite how angry she was, and she was furious that he had been so stupid, and despite how hurt and betrayed she felt, Darcy couldn't bring herself to hate him. Because her tears weren't the only ones that stained the paper. And she knew that it had hurt him just as much as it had her.

She pulled a tissue from the box and wiped her eyes, though it didn't make a lot of difference for the tears just kept flowing. With the pendant that Tim had given her firmly in her hand, the only part of him she had left, she made herself read the rest of his letter.

 _I understand if you don't want to ever speak to me again, but I promise you, I will write to you. Every single day. Whether or not you choose to write back is your choice. I'll understand if you don't. I never meant to hurt you at all. Ever. But I know I've done just that, haven't I?_

 _You know, I was going to ask you to marry me Darcy. I had the ring picked out and everything. All I had to do was propose. But then I realised I couldn't do that until I got my own shit sorted out. I didn't want you to have to continue putting up with the episodes and flashbacks. I'm hoping that this time I'll be able to work through it, being back over here. None of this changes the fact that I still want to marry you Darcy. But I guess that won't happen now, not after this._

 _And it doesn't change the fact that I love you. That I will love you for the rest of my fucking life. We all have that one person we can't live without, and you were mine. Still are mine, if I'm being honest. And after everything, being honest is all I've got left. Ever since the first letter, you had me. And that's not ever going to change. Not now, not ever._

 _Love, Tim_

The tears started fresh, brought on by the words he wrote to her. He was right about more than one thing, though he was wrong about a few too. She might have been that one person in his life, but he was hers as well. But he was wrong about how she felt. Because she would have married him if he had asked her. Now he would never know.

He had made his choice and now she had to make hers. It would hurt, without a doubt, but he had left her to begin with. And Darcy wouldn't, couldn't, forgive him for what he had done, not this time. And he apparently knew that.

The letter was crumpled in her hand and tossed into the waste bin across the room. She'd never be able to forget him, forget what he had meant to her, but she could do everything possible to move on, to not let him hold her back, broken and damaged beyond repair.

She stood then, straightening her back and forcing herself to ignore the fact that parts of him still lingered. She could still smell his aftershave in the air, could still remember how he had loved her, how he had touched her. She ignored the fact that one of his shirts had been left behind, planning on burning it the moment she got the chance. She bundled it all up, that shirt, the pendant he had bought her, everything she ever associated with him, and locked it away draws that she never used and the memories in the furthest reaches of her mind.

And when she later found the ring hidden away at the bottom of her drawers, she felt yearning in her heart for the man she had loved, weakening the decision she had made. Her fingers turned it over in her hands, thinking back to what he had written her. But with resolve in her eyes, she tossed it back into the drawer and slammed it shut, closing that chapter of her life for good.

 _I want to say thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It has meant a lot to me to know that you have all enjoyed Tim and Darcy's love story. This will be the final chapter for this book, though I am hoping to write a sequel to it eventually. Once more, a big thank you to everyone for reading._


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